


The Cure

by MostlyMoody



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Canon Compliant, Darkspawn, Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Grey Warden Secrets, Grey Wardens, Hero of Ferelden - Freeform, Melancholy, Memories, Non-Linear Narrative, Orlais, Orlesian Chevaliers, Orlesian Culture and Customs, Orlesian Grand Game, Orlesian Grey Wardens, Orlesians, Other, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Dragon Age II, Romance, Sex, The Calling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyMoody/pseuds/MostlyMoody
Summary: Once upon a time there was a boy. He was born into wealth and happiness, wanting for nothing.The boy witnessed the death of his family, betrayal and bloodshed. The castle that was built around him, the castle that sheltered him, crumbled and the boy had to become a man. As man, he joined a noble and ancient order - The Grey Wardens. He faced trials and tribulations but also made allies and friends. With their help he saved the world from an evil that would have destroyed it.That was the easy part...The story follows Warden Commander Aedan Cousland - the Hero of Ferelden, on his quest to seek a cure for the Taint as he meets friends and enemies, old and new. Takes place around the beginning of Inquisition. I will rework and release a chapter at least once a week until it's done.Rated E for occasional violence and smut when the story calls for it.Hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcomed and appreciated. =]





	1. A Path of no Return

The iron greaves pressed into the deep layer of snow step after step, each one seemingly slower and heavier than the last one as he made it up the slope of the mountain. Snowy wind hailed from ahead brushing up against his chin and cheeks like sandpaper.

_I should've kept the beard._

A thought rung out through his head. For once a lighthearted thought, something that made him forget the mistakes, the pain and cold; a welcome change from the constant regrets and squalor since Welbrook.

_It didn't have to end that way. The fucking Tal'Vashoth! Sten had talked about them, warned me about them, and I should have listened. Outcasts from the Qunari society he told me, rebels and exiles who fail to adhere to the Qun. Never understood their philosophy, but I did understand Sten and he was a good man. The tal'vashoth swung too far in the other direction: lack of morality, greed, indulgence and cruel ambition; at least some of them did. The good ones, as it often happens, aren't enough._

_It still makes my blood boil, and at this point the warmth of the anger is more welcome than the biting cold of the mountaintops and the misery nesting in my heart._

The snowstorm was picking up as the Warden continued onwards and up the mountain-range. If not for the heavy coat made of snoufleur skin and inlaid with wool for insular warmth, the frostbite would have settled in and taken over his body, leaving him cold and lifeless atop the lonely peaks. The thought of failure kept him going, the thought of never returning and never seeing those he loves kept him on his feet.

 _She would never forgive me if I died here.  
_His thoughts veered to the bard, the woman that kept him from spiraling into a self-destructive pattern, the woman that kept him humble and careful, the woman he loved dearly. He was reminded of her piercing, icy blue eyes, her soft red hair and her smell, like nothing else on this world, it felt like home.

_She would have me die of old age in a bed surrounded by family, reveling in our fortunes and regaling in the deeds of the past as everyone around us grows fat and content from peace._

On some level he wanted that too, but the drive for action had him making mistakes and that had him fixing those mistakes. It was almost a perfect cycle, that he was content with being stuck in.  
_Eventually I will die with a sword in my hand, and another sword through my heart, there is honor in that, bravery. A beautiful end._

_Yet I escaped the traitors as they butchered that village; men, women, children...even those animals wouldn't kill children. I hope. I did it for her, I stayed alive to see her again, to have us together just one more time if for a brief moment, and I would do it again._

Something felt wrong all of a sudden. Like that feeling you get when you walk by a window and the night is dark and quiet outside. The feeling of being watched. He slowly turned on one foot, the snow ever heavy under his feet. A dark, lone shadow slowly emerged on the washed out horizon between the grey snow storm above and the frigid white snow below. Like a drop of ink in a glass of milk the figure was washing out partly due to the relentless storm and partly due to the Wardens sight having to adjust to this single object after having to look ahead into a grey pandemonium of cold and nothing with the occasional stone formation looming over the lone warden.

He squinted and put up a gloved hand to the side of his face to block away the stinging snow from his eyes.

_Another jackass out here looking for salvation or death?_

"Shit!" He spit out as the realization hit him.

_They fucking sent one of them after me. How paranoid are the bastards if they are willing to freeze their asses out here in the middle of nowhere just to make sure I am dead? I am the only one who knows what they have done, they probably think I am going to send word to Weisshaupt and hunt them down. They are sworn to the Grey Wardens now and the only way out is either to be cursed by taint or death._

He looked down for a brief moment in reminiscence.   
_What was that morons name, Ser Godry, Gerry, Jory - that was it. Went for the blade after he saw what the recruitment actually means, what's at stake when you pick up the chalice. I couldn't blame him really, he had a family to go back to, he had something to lose._ _What do these animals have to lose? Their right to pillage and kill for money. Freedom? They are like children that try to stick it to their authoritative parents and take it to the obvious extreme._

The flicker of the figure in the distance snapped him back into the present. A deliberate warrior like movement, purposeful. _He has noticed me._

The Warden turned around facing upwards the mountain once again, shaking off the snow gathered in his cloaks sable fur and hood. He began trudging up the snow-filled slope of the mountain quickening his pace, every step growing ever heavier. This change of pace hit him hard as he started breathing faster and with more frequency, the warm air leaving his lungs stung his chest. Now he truly began to feel the effects of being up on this mountain for so long, for the first time. He could feel his face getting flushed with feverish heat as the body attempted to fight the frigid air, yet he continued up towards a large stone formation - a lonely monolith amidst the wasteland filled with emptiness. A reflection of the warden and the times he was stuck in.

_Never thought I would miss fighting the darkspawn. As cruel and terrible they were you always knew their goals, their intentions. It was a clear cut war, we were the good guys, against all odds uniting Ferelden to fight a dark tide of monsters. Nowadays it all seems so unclear, so muddy. I feel like I am being blown around like a leaf from one corner of the world to another and they all look up to me for guidance and help. The Hero of Ferelden - a man who saved the world and lived to tell the tale. Never though I would be living in my own shadow._

He took another look at the stone pillar and hid in the shadow it cast on the snow below.

_I can take haven behind it, take my time, figure out how I am going to handle this._

The warden slipped behind the large rock out of the eyesight of his pursuer and dropped to one knee, panting heavily. He took off his heavy furred cloak and dropped it next to him; in a hurry he did the same with the backpack that was under the cloak, now only wearing his breastplate, coat and wool scarf.

_He wasn't too far away. I'd give it a hundred feet, maybe less. Let's hope he is as exhausted as me. I don't plan on dying to a horned giant on some mountain in the middle of fucking nowhere._

He pulled out his sword and leaned on it pacing his breathing, preparing for what's to come physically and emotionally. Back to the stone cold pillar, he lifted his sword and spun it a couple times in his hand, feeling it, molding with it. An extension of ones arm is what the sword is supposed to be, yet it felt sluggish and heavy, rusty. He hasn't used it in what seemed to be ages and it showed. Not something you want to feel in the moments that could decide your life or death. Fights always excited the Warden. The fear, the adrenaline, the bloodlust all stirred something primitive within him. The tainted blood that flowed within him only amplified that. That power or curse grew with time no doubt, that is why he was out here - seeking a cure, he remembered. It felt more like chasing an old wives' tale, but then again so was the Ashes of Andraste and it cured the old arl.  
_Isn't it worth to try for hopes sake?_ He remembered her say. _  
That strand of hope is wearing thinner by the day._

This was just another fight - you either win or you die, there is no middle ground - that was something he had to accept at a very young age.

_When Fergus and I went out to hunt down bandits pillaging the Highever lands, there was this one kid about my age; sixteen or seventeen. He had no business wielding a sword even less so to raise that sword against the lord of the lands he was happily stealing from. I didn't think about what made him to join up with thieves and murderers, didn't seem relevant at the time. I was there to prove my worth to my father, to my brother to my family, that I was a dutiful and diligent son, someone worthy of my name and nobility. More than that I wanted to prove it to myself that I could be a warrior, a noble knight like the ones we heard tales about when we were young brats.  
I bashed the kids face in with the side of his own shield. When the blood from his malformed face started seeping into the mud below him as I knelt over his lifeless body, I realized there was no nobility in fighting or war. You were either good enough or dead._

_Forty feet away now._

Wardens breathing was slowing down, more calm, more purposeful. He could ignore the pain in his lungs, the cold sting against his skin, the numbness in his toes and fingers.   
_No, use the pain, use the anger, bottle it up and unleash it against the sorry fucker who steps in front of you. Be a still field of grass that hides a viper within._

_I could use some poison on the blade right about now, if it hadn't frozen two days ago. Never understood the value of poison until I met Zevran. That sly fucking elf. "One scratch of venom against their skin is enough to save you a whole lot of scratches, unless you're into that sort of thing." In that Antivan accent of his. Wonder where he is now. Probably chasing down some skirt or Crow. I still prefer a straight-forward fight, nothing gets the blood pumping quite the same with the right person. Very much like sex that one._

His thoughts veered to the witch, the mother of their child, the woman he could never understand. As his thoughts stranded in a dark place, a hollow shadow passed over his hand resting on the blades hilt in front of him.

"Shit!" The Warden dove to the side as a weight dropped where he stood a moment ago. Scrambling to his feet out of the snow, he switched back to look and saw a qunari standing tall, at least a foot taller than himself, clad in boiled leather and a fur cloak, a sword in one hand and a warden shield in the other. Two large, black horns twisting back around his ears like a ram and a mean, ugly face filled with scars and purposeful fury. The look he has seen before many times in other faces, a look of a man who enjoys killing.

_Blackhorn he called himself, back when I conscripted him. He seemed like a man who sought purpose in war, a purpose in serving a higher cause. When did that change or was I wrong all along? Never trust a mercenary unless you have more gold than your enemy, I heard my father say once. I learned that the hard way - unleashing a well armed Tal-vashoth group on defenseless villages. Fucking animals._

"Come here to die, qunari?"  
"I am no qunari!" The giant spit out with equal disgust and anger.  
_Knew that one would get to him._ "You ever think your qunari friends send you out here so they can reap the spoils without you? You were one of the toughest in the group. Think they are waiting for you out there? You are a dead man."  
"Warden always talked too much." He said as he took a step forward arcing down a sword slash the warden quickly parried. Quickly but not as quickly as he had liked. The impact rung out through his body and his sword arm twitched as he took a step back to retreat from another attack. Blackhorn surely felt that, felt the weakness. Like a wild dog he grinned and snarled as he took another swing from the other side. Another parry and another step back. And another, and then two more. Each one bringing the pain back into his lungs and bones with sharp bursts.

_I can't keep this up forever, he will outlast me. Look at the bloody thing, more an ogre than man. He can just keep swinging with force and at some point my arms will give out. Fuck this cold! Whose brilliant idea was it to set up a village on the other side of this mountain range?_

Another swing came down from the giant. This time the Warden spun through the snow to Blackhorns side and made a quick jab aiming for the side of his knee. The shield came crashing down on top of the blade and the tip grazed his leg instead. Drew some blood, but it's just a scratch. It wont slow down this grey slab of meat.

The warden carried on with the momentum and circled at the back of the giant, he quickly followed to face his opponent. "Getting tired yet big guy? Can't have been a pleasant road up here. Especially knowing it's all for nothing."

He did not respond, instead snarling furiously as he made another heavy downwards swing against the warden. He brought up the blade in defense just in time and the sharp sound the impact between two blades made got the blood pumping faster. One hand still on the sword, warden drew the dagger from his belt and went for his opponents heart. The giant, surprised but vigilant, shifted to the side and the dagger rested into his shoulder instead. He snarled in pain and the warden withdrew, letting go of the dagger as the giant made a rage filled swing where the warden once stood.

"You going to leave that there?" He snapped at the giant after taking a deep breath through his nose.  
_Shield in one hand, sword in the other he will have to make a stupid decision in order to get that blade out. The way it looks from here I got him right in the joint of his shield arm. He won't be able to block that well from his left._

Blackhorn didn't respond, instead he charged the warden with a fierce battlecry. The snow almost didn't slow down the giants pace, he was now running purely on rage and bloodlust. If tipped over the edge he will make mistakes and one of them will be his end.  
As he charged, Aedan slid to the side, cutting in between his leg armor. Blood spurted out like a fountain and the qunari stumbled to the side as momentum carried him away.  
_I cut an artery. If I take my time he will bleed out soon. Tired, exhausted, no matter how big or strong he is, he will fall._

Blackhorn did not stop however. He turned and with a roar went for another charge.  
Warden sidestepped the charging bull to his left in an attempt to exploit his new weakness. As he was near the shield arm the giant spun to the right with a backhand swing and slammed his sword into the wardens breastplate with a loud clang that resonated to his core. A silent hum rang out through his ears. The warden snapped back to real time, pulled away as fast as he could, letting out a cough as the air escaped his lungs too fast at the impact. Wasn't a regular cough, it was wet and salty, tasted of iron. He touched the large impact scar on his breastplate to feel the damage as his leather gloves were tainted by a black liquid that turned red as the snowflakes touched upon it lightly. The cough came back with a strand of viscous blood dripping down his chin. He wiped it off quickly, still confused, shocked, blinking rapidly, darting his eyes to get his bearings.  
_I don't feel it. I don't feel the pain. I was cut across the chest and I don't feel the fucking pain._

The wound felt cold, unnatural and numb. The breathing got faster, more chaotic, uneven. The thoughts raced through his head as the vision got a little blurry and the sounds started coming in faintly. All he could hear was his own broken breath and a muffled growl as a grey shadow moved towards him in his peripheral vision. He was still looking down, seemingly paralyzed.

 _It can't end like this, I made a promise._  
The shadow to his left shifted rapidly.  
_Move, damn it!_  
Warden shifted to avoid the attack, and it felt like the danger had passed for a moment until he felt a sharp sting between his neck and shoulder. For almost a second it felt like a shard of ice had been stuck inside his chest, a cold sensation engulfing his inside reminding him of what he is made of. It left his body thereafter and a numbness overwhelmed his body. The only thing he could feel were his cold numb feet and his hand gripping the sword so tightly it burned.

A force grabbed him by the hair roughly and turned his head towards the giants ugly scar filled face as it grinned in satisfaction only another man’s death could bring. He looked back into his eyes as a cold sting pierced his heart. Icy blue eyes. Nightingales eyes that slowly faded away.


	2. A Different Kind of Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warden meets and old friend and a new enemy in Orlais.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for some smut.

Sixteen days on the sea without any docks along the way has been quite the journey. He dreamed of the familiar - the land, the golden fields of wheat, the high mountains and the soft summer air.

 _At least I've got my sea legs developed. The only time I was on a ship was as a kid when our family traveled across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall on family business. Never threw up more in a span of two days in my entire life. Fergus didn't let that go for weeks the bastard._  
Warden felt a light smile forming on his face.  
It was easy to get lost in melancholy in long travels like this. Eventually bad memories, terrors and nightmares begin surfacing. The Warden preferred to occupy himself to escape this. Battles and other people’s issues usually did the trick.

He looked towards the sun slowly sinking into the Waking Sea behind him as the ship drifted towards the dock. Fishermen and traders were packing up their nets, crates and barrels filled with fish and oysters. Weary and relieved workers headed home after a days work. Near dozen smaller fishing boats were docking along the Wardens ship, as the town grew closer, the smell of freshly cut fish and other seafood mixed in with the salty evening breeze filled the air. A man with a leathery face and ragged hair, sailor by the looks of his clothes, threw a rope from the pier aboard the ship. Eric - the ships captain caught it deftly and began tying a knot to fasten the ship to the pier. This ship was smaller than the one Couslands used. Carrying only a dozen people, it only required one decent sailor to head out and that's all we needed for this journey.

"How long was the travel? Your girl looks weathered by the sea." The sailor said while pulling the ship towards the pier. Obviously Orlesian, accent and all.  
"Aye, it's her first journey. Sailed from Vigil's Keep two weeks without stop. Builds character." Eric shouted back, finishing up the knot.  
"Vigil's Keep?" Sailor looked at the Warden, who was leaning on the ships railings looking at the exchange between two men. He wasn't wearing his Warden armor in hopes to slip by most people and not get hassled while he was here. It's been several years since Vigil's Keep was officially considered to be a Grey Warden castle.  
"Amaranthine actually. We were sent by the Arl to secure some trade deals." Aedan quickly intervened. Exchanging a look with Eric, who by now had a slightly nervous look on his face.  
The sailor chuckled "Well, Ameral is a fair city with good trade. I am sure you will find what you look for."

The ship was fastened to the pier by now. Eric pulled down the sails and went to his cot to grab his gear.  
_Can't forget my trusty squire._  
He approached his cot and listened in for a while, nothing, then knocked on the door. A muffled belch sounded out from behind the door followed by some coughs.  
"If you are quite done, we have arrived. The land calls for you young one."  
"Sorry ser. I am on my way." A young lads voice from the other side of the door exclaimed, tired and apologetic.  
A minute later he exited his cabin, hair untidy, two large bags over his shoulder, still wearing the same clothes he came aboard on but worn down. He looked at Aedan awaiting response, at the ready.  
"You look  _terrible_  Devin. Were you fighting a genlock in that cot?" Warden asked sardonically taking one of the bags off the kids shoulder.  
"Very funny... ser." He snapped back looking down following the warden as they began moving to get off the ship.  
"Are you hungry, we could stop by the tavern grab some stew." Aedan inquired.  
This time the squire only grunted in displeasure.  
_I do so love torturing the kid. He has a good heart but there are some attitude issues. No wonder, he grew up same as me, but saw far less violence._

The sailor was helping with the three travelers baggage off the ship. He went to shake hands with Aedan.  
"Remy." He said with a smile on his face and hand stretched forward, awaiting a response.  
Aedan grabbed his hand, calloused, leathery. Hard working mans face. But his face and eyes had some mischief in them, or was it just that Orlesian smugness. Hard to form opinions of people this fast.  
"Aedan. Thanks for the help."  
"If you are looking for a place to spend the night, Siren's Rest is our finest tavern."

They parted ways on the pier and went into the town. Some people were already celebrating the end of a work day on the lantern lit streets, bustling on the colored brick pavement. The Orlesian chatter sounding throughout the streets. Excitement, arguments, trading all going on at the same time. Reminded Aedan of Denerim, but more Orlesian and more alien to him. He has been to Val Royeaux with Leliana once, but that was a large bustling and glamorous city filled with ladies in extravagant dresses and men in even more flamboyant outfits. The whole city seemingly attempting to one up itself in every possible way, yet there was something sinister behind it all, chaotic. The bard thrived in that environment, she loved the chaos of intrigue and the simpler pleasures of fashion and prestige. This little Orlesian town was more Aedans speed, tightly knit, charismatic and cozy.

They made it to the tavern not far from the port itself. A blue wooden building, two stories tall with a clay roof. The sign over the front door displayed a lewd painting of something that resembled a woman. Not the artist best work surely. The bustle of drunken merriness was emanating from within as the lights and shadows danced through its windows.  
The kid was getting visibly nervous. Young squire is a little shy. Difficult to be the second son sometimes, often feels that a lot is expected from you, duty, obedience. You can either fight it or accept it. I fought it; young Devin accepted it. He will make a shrewd man one day, not sure if he will be a fighter though, it will certainly take a bit of pushing.  
He slapped the squire on the shoulder "Hang in there, you'll live through this day yet."  
_No response. Oh the angsty teenage years._

They made it into the tavern. It looked as crowded and merry as it sounded from the outside.  
"Get us a room for the night Eric, won't you?" He looked at the captain, handing off the bag to his squire.  
"Aye, Commander."  
"And don't call me commander from now on. We are traders from Amaranthine  _remember_?"  
"Ser, one room for us all?" The squire spoke up for once.  
"We are humble merchants Devin. Besides if you find yourself a pretty gal you can spend the night in her room.” Aedan quipped back.  
Turned red like a beet in an instant. _Far as I know young Devin has never been with a girl, the kid is sixteen. If I remember right I had laid with the handmaidens daughter at Highever when I was his age. Darcy; you never forget the first time._  
"Not to worry, plenty of lasses in the tavern. We will make a man out of you yet."  
"I'll bring up the bags to the room." Devin quickly proclaimed and made it to the stairs, excusing himself in between the drunken patrons.  
"Don't be so hard on the kid eh, Comm... Ser." Eric quietly said, while paying the innkeep for the rooms.  
"Nothing builds character quite like poking banter Eric. You are a sailor, don't they teach you that?"  
"Aye it builds character, for a younger you perhaps. The kid is shy as a mouse. You have kids ser Aedan?"  
"You know I don't Eric." It was easier to deny, than to explain Morrigan.  
"Well, take it from someone who does. If you push the shy ones, it will only make them bitter and resentful." The way he said that hit hard to the mans home, it was obvious. There was sadness and regret. Eric was near his fifties, definitely has at least a couple of children, a wife. Best not to pry though.  
"Come now Eric, he is not my child. In ten years he will remember me as that asshole knight who made snarky remarks and taught him how to fight."  
"Aye, you are right no doubt." He looked down to grab the bag off the floor, next to the counter.  
"Why don't you go see to it upstairs. Poor Devin must be just now realizing he doesn't know which room we bought."  
Eric complied, while the Warden sat down at the nearest empty stool and ordered a drink.

He sat at the bar, mingling with the patrons and the bartender, finding out as much as possible about the town, surroundings and most importantly his reason for being here. Had to be cautious about what was asked, but most conversations about the Wardens and the taint ended up in Montsimmard - where the Orlais Warden headquarters were located. Nothing new here, that was his first destination anyway. There was word of the current Grand Enchanter having been a Warden, and then suddenly not. No doubt the mages are busy with their bloody rebellion. Hard to defend the poor bastards after they blow up a Chantry and take countless lives.

_If I had been more vigilant, more present, I could have kept Anders in Amaranthine. He was changing by the end of it, I noticed it, before he just up and disappeared one day. I chalked it up to the burden of being a Warden, cowardice perhaps, never thought he would start a fucking war.  
Feels like I lost a lot of people, maybe got lost myself along the way._

The sun had set two hours ago, the tavern was still lively although a little dimmer. Warden noticed Remy - the man from the pier chatting and laughing with some sailors and knights on the other side of the tavern. Not knights - chevaliers, a fancy name for a killer of the same stripes. Eric was drinking with another group of sailors, exchanging stories by the looks of it. Devin nowhere to be seen, in the room reading some of his books no doubt. No reason to bother the kid for today.

He reached over the counter with the empty wine cup, trying to get the bartenders attention. Just as he was leaning in someone dropped on the empty stool to his left with a heavy, tired exhale.  
"Flask of ale big man." A feminine voice, Free Marcher accent sounds like, tired but zesty. Seemed familiar.  
Warden turned his head to look at the dusky woman sitting next to him. Hair black and brown gathered under a blue bandanna hanging over her back and shoulders, whispy and thick. She didn't lack for jewelry; golden disc earrings a golden piercing under her lower lip and an ornate, heavy golden choker adorning her neck. She wore an embroidered, brown leather coat, akin to a sea captain's and a white tunic under it. Thigh tall black leather boots. All very form fitting, not hiding her strengths, this one. How could you forget her, the Rivaini pirate queen herself. The Warden chuckled and turned back to hand his cup to the bartender for a refill.  
"Didn't your mother tell you it's not polite to stare at a lady?" She quipped at her bar partner.  
"Would that if there was one."  
"Oh-hoho." the Rivaini laughed "I've had a real shitty day, and you might be just the thing I beat down to bring my spirits up." Wasn't lying about that first part. Still keeping up the act of a wounded damsel, she must be really looking for a fight. I'd rather present her a friendly face.  
"You'll run out of taverns to ruin one day if you keep this up Isabela."  
"How do you know my bloody name? You one of Gerricks lap dogs?" She got defensive quickly and her hand went for the dagger at her waist.  
Warden grabbed her wrist "Fucks sake Isabela, a little jumpy these days." In a quieter tone, masked by the bustle of the drunken tavern crowd he followed "Aedan Cousland? The guy who ended the Blight ring a bell?"  
Isabela stared at him for a while still holding onto the blade, inspecting the man in front of him, scanning him and her memory. Then she brushed off his hand on her wrist and went for the flagon of ale on the counter.  
"Andraste's ass." a relief washed over her as the words escaped her "It's the  _beard_  - it threw me off." she said in a much more lighthearted tone than before. A feigned half-smile on her face and distant eyes.  
"You haven't changed at all on the other hand." Aedan responded.  
"Ha, charming. Now I remember, it's all starting to come back." Isabela teased, taking a drink of ale.  
"What brings you out to a humble Orlesian village?"  
"Streak of bad luck." She clearly wasn't interested in sharing more than that, which wasn't going to stop the Warden from trying.  
"Something to do with this Gerrick character?"  
"Shut up." Not aggressive, more dismissive and filled with contempt. This is a fresh wound. If I were any other schmuck she would have knocked me flat on the ground right there.  
"Come on Warden, my life is boring compared to yours. What are you up to these days?"  
He looked around to see if anyone reacted to her calling him that. Thankfully no worried looks, yet. "Call me Aedan. Your life is quite the riot I hear. Qunari, templars, mages the whole deal."  
"Not you  _too_? I swear, people need to stop reading that damn book. You do know half of it is straight bullshit and the other half is wildly exaggerated. All written by a dwarf who is as good at writing as being a responsible citizen."  
"You can rest easy then, I haven't read it. I have my own sources and they don't tend to exaggerate. Although you got me interested in the book now."  
She snorted, first genuine laugh out of her. "Your loss..." She looked at him and continued in a mocking secrecy "... _Aedan_."

They continued talking and drinking, inquiring each other about the time after their meeting in Denerim, both avoiding conversations of the more trying times. This must be what it is to talk to someone else who doesn't share their grievances and doesn't reveal their scars. He could sense her pain though, they were of the same cloth that way - that was evident from their first meeting. Perhaps Isabela could sense his wounds the same way. She would be a shitty duelist if she couldn't, and the Warden knew she was anything but.  
He considered bringing up Anders. He wanted to know how he was by the end, was there still any of the Warden left he knew. He had heard reports of course, but Isabela knew him, perhaps even called him a friend. Decided against asking, some things are better left forgotten.  
Sticking to telling stories and anecdotes worked for them both at the time, alcohol helped. She was openly laughing now, forgetting her initial worries and whatever had her attention before, so was the Warden.

Isabela brought up their more intimate times back in Denerim.  
_Quite a memory she has, never heard anyone recall a sexual encounter this vividly._  
More of the old Isabela he knew was coming out, what with the painfully obvious sexual innuendos.  
Eric had gone upstairs, so has Remy and the knights he was talking to, most patrons were still merry.  
_Couldn't have been past midnight yet, time gets fuzzy after several cups of wine and ale. How many? Who's counting anyway._  
Isabela and Warden slipped into the cellar - "That's where they keep all the good stuff." Hand in hand, like a couple of teenagers on the run from the world.  
Aedan's vision was a little blurry by now, walking was not an issue but the surroundings were almost feeling numb, not quite with a dusky pearl leading the way down the stairs. Her swaying hips and enchanting strut did nothing to discourage the Warden. The bottom of the stairs creaked under the pirates boots, she looked back past the warden and giggled.

As they entered the dimly lit cellar, Isabela turned to face the Warden and pulled him into a kiss inhaling deeply as she clutched the front of his shirt almost ripping some of the buttons. He returned the kiss with enthusiasm, overwhelmed by her charm and the alcohol. She smelled of copper, jasmine and booze.  
Isabela started blindly unbuckling his belt while he pushed into her breasts with his palms, splitting apart her tunic and revealing her. Aedan slid his hand between her legs into her smallclothes and felt her warmth against his fingers. Blood began rushing to his cock as he heard her low moan against his lips and she bit into his lower lip at the sensation of him sliding his fingers into her.  
Isabela grabbed him by his wrist, pulled his hand out of her and slid his two fet fingers deep into her mouth, sucking them clean. “Fuck me.” She commanded. The warden obliged and pushed himself fully into her.  
She wrapped her legs around the small of his back, the rough leather of her boots rubbing against his skin as he moved in and out of her. He felt her pushing harder against him, her breasts tightly squeezing between their bodies as they found their pace.  
They had worked up a sweat as they clutched into each other in the warm, damp cellar. Isabela started letting out soft moans as her partner filled her over and over, her belly fluttered and she felt warmth rise to her face. She proceeded to dig her heels into his back even harder not willing to let up the momentum. This pushed Aedan over the edge. As he came, Aedan went for a kiss. Isabela turned her head to the side and he instead rested in her thick, voluminous hair.

As the two were still catching their breaths and buttoning up their clothes, Aedan said: “Sorry. It’s been a while.”  
Isabela slapped his cheek coyly and smiled. “Redemption in my room?”  
Aedan chuckled and followed the siren’s call.

\---

_He was walking familiar stone halls, candle sconces lighting the way. Despite the soft flames, the hall was cold and faint almost devoid of sound and warmth._

_I am home, yet it feels far away. I am a ghost walking through an effigy of a memory._

_A distant voice was calling him, sweet and familiar, motherly, echoing through the hall ahead of him. He took step after step, slowly almost disconnected, not sure why he was moving forward. The voice called him further into the halls._

_"Aedan." The voice echoed like a distant whisper along the stone walls and through the still candle fires._

_Another voice joined in, a mans, calm and affectionate yet distant and melancholic "Pup. Come forward."_

_He walked forward, towards the voices like a moth drawn to flame. Above him was a nights sky. No stars. He walked towards the voices behind a door that he remembered lead to the pantry, he still remembered the castle despite having not been there for so long. The regret was always there, not even Howe's blood could quench it._

_As he moved closer to the door the voices grew quieter with every step. He looked behind him, the candles on his passed trail had extinguished, just dark stones and black nothing beyond it._

_Only one way to go._

_Warden went for the door-knob, it was cold to touch, as if no man had touched it before. He stood there, for how long he could not tell, mind wandering just staring at the handle. There was doubt but also something else, something distant clawing at the back of his head._

_Just open it you fucking coward._

_Rage welled up in his chest. He turned the handle and entered the room with a push. Not a room, a stairway leading downwards. This was never here, this was not the place he grew up in. The steps were almost natural, carved from the passage itself and the walls resembled more a tunnel dug up in a hurry. In a sconce was a torch, metal made lit with a blue foreboding flame. Beyond it the downwards passage was dark, barely visible._

_He touched the door behind him and turned. It was there no more, just a cave wall._

_Now there really is no other way._

_Warden turned back to face the torch and picked it up, the path down seemed dark. He stepped ahead on the mismatched stone steps as the passage curved to the left as he moved on._

_That clawing at the back of his mind grew clearer. Almost a whisper, soft and deliberate. The voice became clearer as he moved down the hall, but now it was of a language he did not speak. It was strange, almost melodic but sharp. The voice reminded him of Mother Mallol reciting prayers under her breath but more deliberate and imposing. It was as enchanting as the calls of his parents, speaking through his blood, familiar. Unlike his family this call rang through his blood in an obtrusive manner it resonated through his mind and body yet he could not stop walking towards its source._

_I see a door at the end of it. How long have I been walking, I can't remember._

_He approached the door, it had no handle, made of some kind of steel, black and gleaming. There were textured carvings all over the door but not carved with any tool, they looked natural as if they had taken shape throughout years on their own, immaculate and clean. Hieroglyphs of a strange language covered the door in arcs and spirals, melding in and out of the scenes depicted on it. The scenes depicted on it were bizarre, nothing like he has seen before. It was just like reading a different language, they made no sense, just shapes. Some looked human, some animal perhaps. He inspected them as the blue light of the torch moved and danced across the crevices and inlays of the carvings. As he moved the torch the scenes on the door almost moved themselves, shimmering like a foggy illusion in his peripheral sight, yet he was looking right at it._

_As the Warden was enchanted by the doors surface, it shifted with a sharp screech and moved an inch backwards, opening. He put his hand to it; like steel but colder and oily. He moved his hand away to look at it and rub his fingers, no residue on them. He put it back on the door and pushed as the heavy iron door moved slowly. Beyond it a pool of black water glistening with the blue light of the torch. It ran right from the edge of the doorframe all across the outside wall, still, no ripples or current. He looked below and saw no reflection of himself, just the torch floating in the air._

_Where have I come? I have not been here, but it seems familiar._

_He put his torch up higher and in front of him as far as he could without falling in the water. Looking ahead was only the dark ever-still water and beyond the light of his torch - nothing._

_I must go back, return to where I began. My home, where is my home._

_Suddenly he lost his balance. Feeling of falling fear washed through his toes to his head. He opened his eyes._

\---

"Fuck." The Warden recoiled staring up at a wooden ceiling, feeling the cloth beneath him. He rubbed his eyes, getting up to a sitting position, now noticing the white sheets wet and messed up in chaotic bunches, his body covered in cold sweat as if from a fever.

_A feverish dream for sure. Andraste's ass, what was that all about? Almost like the dreams of the Archdemon I had during the Blight as he spoke to us. This was different; no darkspawn, no archdemon. I've felt the calling before, it is why I am here, but it was different back then. I wandered the deep roads in my nightmares, sensing the darkspawn below if they were close enough. I was one of them but never myself. Wardens sensed them in the present usually, but never anything as real and gripping as this. The calling sets in thirty years for most Wardens. If this was the real deal then I am shit out of luck; I've been a Warden just for a dozen years. Just a dozen, huh?_

He put his feet on the floor wiping off the sweat from his chest and face with the bed sheets. He remembered last night now, not too clearly since he had quite a bit to drink but clearly enough to have good memories of the vigorous activity with Isabela.  
_I do wish that sweat was less of the cold, dreadful, nightmare type._  
He looked back across the bed, she was not there. Just the slightest indentation of where she was in the bed, he touched the sheets, they were cold. She had left quite a while ago. He looked outside the window, the sun was just above the sea horizon, in the distance dozens of ships were sailing out into the waters.  
He rubbed his eyes again and smelled a flower. He looked at the bed-table. A small white lotus lay there on top of a piece of paper. He picked both up, looking at the paper, it said:  
_"I've got some things to take care of and knowing you and your damsels, couldn't stay for the morning. Sorry for using you, but I think we both got what we needed. Good luck on whatever it is you are looking for."_ and a lipstick kiss mark on the bottom.  
"How romantic." he chuckled.  
His face soured as he thought of the bard.  
_Feel like I betrayed her. Does it matter to her anymore, I wonder. We both chose duty over a simple, comfortable life in a manor somewhere on the Waking Sea._  
He wished she would be there to yell at him, say something hurtful, just to hear her voice.

 _Last letter was from her telling me to come back to her. Not to worry of the calling, not to worry of the death that will eventually take me. I was comfortable knowing I will die one die with a blade through my chest, comfortable in knowing it would happen but not when. The calling was like a poison, seeping in the mind and mocking you. You will die._  
_I will die on my own bloody terms._  
She followed her faith, her Chantry. She knew that Aedan did not feel the same way of the Maker as she did but they learned to separate it eventually, accepted each-others views. In the end it still fell to their beliefs and duties. He was still a Warden and she was still an agent of the Divine.

Clothes and armor on, sword at his side, the Warden made it out of the room. One door ahead to the left was Eric locking it up. He waved towards him as he watched the Warden emerge from the room.  
"Well shit, now we know the source of the bloody noise for sure." Eric said, "I owe the kid a gold."  
"Not sure if I should be happy that the kid has so much faith in me or be saddened you have so little. A bittersweet moment really, can't place it."  
"Aye, well how about you ponder your feelings at breakfast, kids treat today." They shared a laugh and made it downstairs to a fairly empty tavern. Only a couple traders or travelers scattered around. Most merry-makers must have been locals, went back to the safety of home and warmth of their hearth. One poor sod was still passed out under a table. Great night for him.

Devin was at a table with the backpacks dropped next to his feet. The kid was filling up on some food, two other dishes awaiting on the table. Diced sausage, scrambled eggs, grated potatoes some small tomatoes with greens mixed in and a cracked crabs pincer. As they came closer, it smelled better than it looked.  
Devin looked up "Mownin." he quickly emptied his mouth. "Sorry. Morning ser."  
"Morning to you too Devin. I believe it's your lucky day. Cough it up Eric." He slapped the sailor on the shoulder, as he pulled out a coin sack and flicked a gold coin at Devin. He caught it and pocketed it.  
"I believe it was your lucky day. Ser." He was looking down into his tray but Aedan could hear the smile.  
Warden wheezed, "Young Devin's got jokes  _and_  the smarts. How he has not got himself a castle and a wife by now is beyond me."  
"Aye shrewd bugger of a squire you got there. Played me into a bet like a fool that I am." Eric sat down to get to his meal. Aedan followed.

They didn't talk much during the breakfast, Eric was too mannered and stoic, Devin too shy and Aedan was taught to not speak with mouth full as a kid. Some lessons can't be escaped.  
The morning was quiet, most sailors had already departed to sea. They could hear some light bustle from bartering traders outside. Witnessed a scene as a fuming woman barged into the tavern and began kicking the drunk laying under the table in the other corner of the tavern. Some angry in Orlesian. Pulled the wreck of a man up slung his arm over shoulder and made it out of the tavern, red with anger and shame. Didn't forget to shout some obscenities at the barkeep on the way out. That's a keeper.

The food was finished, the band ready to leave after making plans to follow the road to Montsimmard, to the Warden Keep.  
"Trusty squire! I have a quest for you: you are to purchase us two horses." He counted some gold coins and handed them to Devin. "On your way now, shoo."  
The kid nodded and left the tavern.  
"Just  _two_  eh?" Eric inquired once the squire was out.  
"Only hired you to bring me across the sea Eric. You delivered. The ship is yours now."  
Sailor thought for a while, "Didn't ask for no ship Warden. You already paid me."  
"It's not a  _handout_  Eric. You will return to Amaranthine, to your family, work the seas, contribute to commerce. You got two ships now, maybe get your son to work it."  
"Appreciate it Warden." He thought again and smiled. "Aye, haven't seen my family in a while." He thought for a moment. "Never named the ship though."  
"It's yours now, all up to  _you_. Never been good at naming things. Hell, named my sword 'Vigilance'. Don't think whoever stole it will ever guess it was a Warden blade."  
Eric chuckled. "Never been good at it myself. I'm sure it'll come to me as I sail her back through the tides."

The two spoke some farewell words drinking their whisky coffee. Eric told the Warden of his family, spoke of some mistakes he made, nothing specific, everyone has those. He hasn't spoken much of them before and even now not much he wanted to share, private man, Aedan could respect that. Regretful but hopeful.

Devin was back with two horses in tow, as Aedan and Eric shook hands outside of the tavern.  
"Be good kid and don't listen too much what Commander says. Most of it is hogwash." Eric spoke to Devin lightheartedly.  
"Thank you for taking us across the sea ser."  
"Not a ser and I'm just doing my duty to the arl. Farewell."

He left and both knight and squire made it onto their newly saddled horses. One black with brown patches along its back, the other a cream color with a white mane. Both strong horses, different than Fereldan breeds, more lithe with saddles ornate with lion engravings on the leather, probably salvaged and cleaned from a battlefield in the past. Aedan mounted the lighter horse, while Devin with some difficulty got on the dark, spotty one.  
"They got names?" Warden asked.  
Devin pulled out a parchment from the pocket. "Uh yes ser. The spotty one is..." he looked closer at his own writing. "Champion de Falaise, and the white one...mmm... Toque Blanche." He did his best to do justice to the Orlesian pronunciation. It all sounded the same to Aedan. Some passing by girls giggled to each other as they heard the bastardization of their language. Devin blushed at that and folded the piece of paper back.  
"Orlesians." Warden said, as if that one word would explain the situation perfectly. Squire nodded in agreement and they trotted towards the town gates at once.

They passed along the morning lit houses, quiet and peaceful. Children playing along the streets, wooden swords in hands chasing each other. The smell of home-cooking seeping from the windows.  
They reached the gates soon enough, made of white stone, portcullis raised, two guards with pikes standing atop and two more at the entrance.  
"Where are you headed to gentlemen?" One of the gatekeepers asked looking at Aedan, lowering his pike to block the horses passage.  
"Montsimmard. Anything to look out for?"  
"You sound Fereldan, so look out for stirring any trouble. Our Empress and Duke Gaspard are in open civil war as you  _should_  know. They shouldn't trouble a..."  
"A merchant." Aedan finished his sentence.  
"A  _merchant_  from Fereldan. Have a safe journey gentlemen." He lifted the pike back and the two riders passed by into the Heartlands.

What he read about the region was far from what he saw here now. Supposedly one of the richest and wealthiest regions of Orlais it almost seemed desolate. The war has come here first. Securing the plantations, orchards, baiting the Empresses army out into the open from behind the safety of castle walls, taking noble hostages from lightly defended manors. That was what her enemy would do and with that came a cost - a broken land for whoever emerged victorious in the end. Something the Warden was all to familiar with.  
Across the fields in the distance he could see bellows of thick black smoke, five or six stacks. Marching soldiers, stragglers, horsemen, deserters. It was chaotic out there, the roads seemed more safe. Some soldier escorts passed them by in a hurry, didn't bother them. The Warden had dressed appropriately, no excessive weaponry or armor, just a sword and leather armor underneath the surcoat for protection. If they rifled through their bags, might be a different story then.

They were coming up to a narrow path on the road sloping down, with trees arching over it, like a nature-made hallway. He head horses ride in the distance not too far behind, two maybe three, must be more scouts.  
As they trotted down the slope they saw an armored horse in front of them. Sky blue cloth over its back legs, adorned with three golden flowers. A man was crouching next to the animal, armored, looked like a soldier or a knight. He was rifling through a backpack next to another knight, that one dead, two spears sticking out of the mans chest.

The hooves behind them grew closer every second. Devin shot the Warden a worried look, as if to ask for direction.  
"Be calm. They are just scavengers, looking to take a toll for passage." Well armed scavengers. Either very bold for stealing another man's coat of arms or deserters from the army perhaps. Which side though, not sure.  
Warden trotted ahead to meet up with the man in front. No point in escaping now, riders behind us, narrow passage ahead and the horses won't make it up the dirt slope into the forest. Devin was following just behind, following Aedans lead.  
Horsemen behind were some twenty feet behind now, slowing down. Aedan glanced back: three men, all knights, plate armor and heavily armed. Wearing the same colors as the man in front, three golden flowers on blue.  
The man in front stood up from the bag, sword in right hand, left hand raised signaling the travelers to stop.  
"Easy." Aedan whispered to the horse as it was getting restless at the sight of an armed man. It slowed down. The soldier in front was in front of the horse now, three knights behind stopped as well, their horses pacing in place.  
The man in front said something addressing the other knights in Orlesian petting Aedans horse to calm it.  
He turned back to Aedan. "Where are you headed?" Thick orlesian accent and a sharp voice to go with a face with sharp features, narrow cunning eyes, short cropped black hair and a clean trimmed beard. Hasn't been involved in the fighting around here, no blood, no armor dents, he was out here for something else.  
Aedan responded: "Just a merchant on my way to Montsimmard."  
The knight chuckled "Oh yes, what was it? A humble merchant from Amaranthine."  
Now that was a bad sign. A sudden realization swept over him as he looked back to inspect the other three knights. Same men chatting with that sailor - Remy in the tavern. That bloody windbag.  
Aedan put his hands up, "You got me, I am a Warden. I am however travelling to Montsimmard, is there an issue with that?" Better be on the guard, not sure why they stopped me if they do know who I am.  
The dark haired knight in front of him furrowed his brow and grimmaced. He gave another knight a stern look and Aedan heard three swords leave their scabbards behind him. He instinctively grasped the hilt of his own blade, but the knight interrupted, putting the blade to horses throat as it recoiled, unable to go anywhere as it was held by the man in front.  
"Not so quick."  
"Ser!" He heard Devin's soft and trembling voice. He looked back to see the young squire atop his horse, holding onto the hilt of his sword, motionless, frozen like a statue with a blade to his throat.  
The knight in front continued "Do you take us for fools? You think you can just announce yourself and pass on your merry way? We know you do not head to Montsimmard Warden."  
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Aedan responded in confusion. This did not make sense. They are hunting a Warden? On whose orders?  
"But if you are headed to Montsimmard as you say, we will take you there and see you to the  _gallows_  as well. Lay down your weapons or we will gut your friend and  _you_  if we must.  
_I could cut the four of them down. My horse will fall, no doubt but they are slow. The one in front hasn't seen much battle a lordling pretending to be a warrior. No, Devin will die. A blade to his throat, neither I nor him are as fast as to stop that._  
_Swallow your pride, let them take you to Montsimmard, that's where you are headed anyway. Maybe clear it up on the way maybe not, once I reach the Wardens it will clear up on its own. The bloody Orlesians are hell-bent on seeing me hang apparently._

"Fine," Aedans face showed contempt, it hurt to surrender. "I will come willingly, put the blades away."  
The knight winced and narrowed his eyes inspecting the Warden, then took the blade off going back to saddle his horse. Another blade tipped Aedans right side, he recoiled. One of the three riders was right next to him. "No sudden moves Warden." A females voice, rough and coarse.  
The leader of the band, now on horse back approached him on the left side. Pulling out Aedans sword he said with contempt and calculating concern in his voice "I don't know what you are planning here Warden, but we will not play it as you wish." He followed in Orlesian, the other knights laughed at whatever it was he said, the female knight poked his side again, he turned to look back at her.  
"This might sting a little." Voice from his left followed by a sharp metallic knock to the head. The sound vibrated through his head, the vision blurred in an instant.  
"Commander..." A dim shout from behind, slowly fading out. He lost balance, watching as the world spun and went black.

 


	3. Blood and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warden finds himself in a precarious situation and has to figure out a way out.

The sun has been scorching for most of the day but now it hid behind thick rain clouds in the distance, providing some much needed reprieve. Aedans wrists were still sore and burning from the tight ropes. Every time the horse took a trot ahead a jolt of pain rushed through his head. The blood above his eye had dried fast in the bright sun.

_Stripped of weapons, bound, surrounded by Orlesians. I might be alright with this in a certain context._

He got their names listening to them speak to each other. Some in Orlesian some in Common tongue. The leader, they called him - Constance De Roche. By his last name and formal address most of the time, must be a lordling as Aedan suspected; posture, arrogance, entitlement it was all worn on his sleeve.  
One of the knights in his employ a tall, lanky, tanned man. No hair, no beard and a stoic, somber face. They called him Michel. Didn't talk much, when he did speak up he expressed concern of Montsimmard and their pace of travel.   
Second knight was often by Michel's side, conversing in Orlesian. Michel stayed quiet throughout the conversations letting his friend do the talking.   
The chatty one was a bulky, brutish man; strong jaw, a mustache and untidy light hair hanging over his eyes and ears. This ones name was Basier. Big mouth on this one, made some jests at the Warden as they traveled with their bound prisoners.   
_Wonder if he would have as big of a mouth if I had a blade at hand._  
The last knight a woman, although it would be hard to tell at first glance. Athletic, built like a man almost. Face didn't do any favors to show her femininity - rough, strong chin and jaw and that constant bitter look on her face, like she was keeping a slice of lemon under her tongue. Thin, short, brown hair slicked back. Not the most inviting personage, even in this group. She was, however, the only one to address their leader by his first name while he called her by hers - Roberta. The two other men, mockingly called her Bella. She didn't seem to mind, or at least her look of contempt never changed. She was also the only one to have her hand on her hilt at all times, always at the ready and Aedan could feel her vigilant gaze as she trotted few paces behind.

His squires horse was right next to his, trotting in a sad unison, surrounded by their captors. Devin was constantly looking down, afraid to look at any of the knights or the Warden.  
The woman knight spoke in common in a levelheaded tone with a hint of an accent. “He called him Commander, Constance.”  
“And I can call you Empress Celene. That does not make it so.” Constance mocked.  
“But what if…”  
“Stop. They told us about him. Falling for this treachery is very much like you.”  
"Devin, if you distract these three knuckleheads I could disarm and knock out the lass pointing a blade at me seeing..." Aedan interrupted.  
"Shut it Fereldan dog!" Constance intervened from up front.  
The warden continued, "...seeing as they don't seem too bright."  
"I said shut it!" He turned his head to look at the Warden this time, flustered.  
Aedan turned to the knight this time "You do know you are in for a surprise once we reach Montsimmard."  
He laughed in response "Oh, well in that case let us unbind you and send you on your way. I am sure you will be no trouble at all."  
"You know they say sarcasm comes easy to intelligent people. You must be an outlier."  
Basier let out a hearty chuckle but quickly stopped when Constance shot a nasty look at him.  
"Looks like your men don't respect you much. Why don't you unbind me and put a sword in my hand. You Orlesians take duels seriously don't you. Earn some respect maybe?"  
"You are trying my patience traitor!"   
_There it is again. Traitor. Are they really after me or are they hunting down another warden. Neither seems likely; for a bunch of Orlesian knights to be out here in the middle of a war, searching for a Warden._  
"Just what do you think I have done?" Aedan inquired.  
Constance was getting visibly more flustered, like a confused boy given reigns of command. The inexperience was showing. His reddish face turned towards the warden as he stopped his horse and the rest of the entourage followed.  
"That is it Fereldan dog! Gag him and if he speaks up again cut his fucking tongue out." He shouted out furiously at his followers and the Warden. The serving knights stood in shock for a second at this outburst. Michel trotted towards Aedans horse and bound his mouth with a rag quietly as the rest exchanged some heated words in Orlesian.

They kept on riding for hours just off the Imperial Highway, seemingly trying to avoid the main army movements and detection. The signs of war could still be seen in the distance. Shouts of terror, songs of steel, bellows of smoke scattered in the dim greying sky.  
Aedan tried to listen to what his captors were talking about, but most of it was in Orlesian and what he did understand was bawdy stories from Basier and worried comments about the civil war.   
Devin was still within himself; head down, deep in thought trying to disconnect from the unfortunate situation. It appeared as if he was listening at times, same as Warden trying to figure something out but still afraid to speak up or do something. 

 _All I need is an opportunity, just one bloody opportunity. Bound and gagged like a fucking animal. At this point I am starting to think whoever sent the bastards to capture me were actually looking for me. Tensions between Orlais and Fereldan have been high strung even after we finished off the darkspawn threat. A counselor and friend to King Alistair would be a prized captive to any Orlesian family, the question is who would be so bold to carry out with this plan. During a civil war no less, or perhaps that's what they are using to their advantage. I hate politics. How I ever managed staying in Denerim for nearly a year is beyond me. Facilitating between Anora, Alistair and Eamon, getting them to agree on anything; what a bloody nightmare._  
From what I hear of the capital the situation hasn't changed much but they keep up the facade of stability at least. Alistair wasn't much for politics either but I think he has got the hang of it, it’s in his blood. Wonder if the King and Queen are still as awkward in private as they were before. 'The most celibate royal couple' they will call them.   
To be forced into marriage through duty to your country, to your family - that was destined for me too. Delilah Howe, the pale girl with black willowy hair hanging around her head like a funeral veil. Oh how she despised me when we were young. 'A foolish, brazen mutt' she called me. I hated her family for so long after Rendon. Thinking of the bastard still wrenches my guts. I hated them just because they were Howes, until I met Nathaniel. He was much like myself in many ways, lost in family memories and hatred of those who wronged him. I wasn't sure why I spared him when I did, why I let him join the Wardens. Maybe I thought he would die during the joining. I later realized it was because I gave him the same chance Duncan gave me - a chance for a new life.

The band rode into a small path in between trees scattered with corpses of soldiers. Broken, slashed armor, missing limbs, blood splattered and seeping into the dirt. Some looked like they were crushed by their own horses as they fell – a bad way to go. Warden saw a dagger about fifteen feet away, unsheathed lying in the dirt as one of the dead soldiers arms was reaching for it in his death grips.   
_Last ditch attempt to fight, didn't work out for him, might for me._    
As the horses rode past the dagger, Warden shouted out in pain into the rag bound around his mouth and forced himself tumbling off the horse to the right towards the dagger, shoulder first to lessen the impact. He heard a sword unsheathe behind him. He landed and quickly shifted on his back looking for the dagger with his hands bound behind him, while feigning pain.  
_Come on you bastard... Got it!_  
The Orlesians were off their horses, two of them watching over the squire. Aedan slipped the blade under his coat and deftly tucked it into his belt.   
"Get up!" Constance commanded, sword drawn.  
Warden just looked at the man above him with a quizzical look.  
"I didn't catch that. Cat got your tongue?" The knight laughed at his own joke, the other two men copied their superior. Roberta remained un-amused and roughly pulled the warden up by the front of his coat.  
"I hear your kind rode griffins once? Maybe you all fell off them too?" Basier quipped, letting out a hearty laugh.  
"Do you need help getting back on the horse?" Constance asked him extending his hand. "Roberta, why don't you help our mighty warden get back on the horse. Maybe tie him to it, he has trouble riding it seems." The two knights chuckled again.  
_Oh he was having fun with this. The smirk on his face, petty and arrogant. If only I had a bloody sword so I could lengthen that grin by a foot._  
"Enough Constance." Roberta said calmly while helping the warden back on his horse.  
"You don't tell me when it is enough! Understand? You are here only because my mother wanted you to be here, and you are under my command!" His tone shifted into anger, almost contempt. They have a history these two for sure. Could use it later, stoke the fires if need be.  
Roberta did not respond, just got back on her own horse. Everyone followed, sheathing their swords. The Warden felt much more comfortable now with a dagger and a plan.   
_Once we stop for the night we are getting away._ _They will take shifts to watch over us of course, might be tricky. At least I have control of the situation as miniscule as it seems._

As the sun set the rain clouds moved in, turning ever darker as they were reaching for the horizon. The horsemen set up a camp just off the trail in a small clearing amidst the dense Heartland woods. A small fireplace was gathered and soon the knights began rifling through the Wardens bags and belongings, while him and his squire got tied to opposite sides of a tree, ten feet from the fire, covered from the rain by the foliage above them.  
Aedan pushed the rag off his mouth and whispered to his squire. "Devin. I am going to cut the bindings off when they go to sleep. One of them will be up, so we will have to be fast. You run towards the trail and try to make it on the Highway, I will run into the woods. Meet me in Verchiel.” Warden tried to remember the name of the old tailor.  
_Stanislav. We were introduced by Leliana several years ago. The old coot was working as a travelling tailor and cobbler. But really his job was listening. Last I heard from my sources he was holed up in Verchiel, most likely feeding information to one of the nobles or more likely several. I was going to see him passing through Verchiel but now it seems the visit is going to be less pleasant._  
“Ask for a tailor in the city, his name is Stanislav Siers. When you find him tell him that you are with me, he will keep you safe until I get there. Did you get all that?"  
A slight pause, then he spoke up in a hushed but determined tone "I got it. You can count on me. I won't let you down ser."  
"Good. Try to go for a blade as you escape but don't make it a priority. They won't chase you, it's me they want for whatever bloody reason."  
"Could they be after you because of, you know, your connections in Ferelden?"  
"Could be that, could be they are looking for another warden."  
"If that is the case, is it wise to go to Montsimmard? The Wardens there might be compromised." The kid has thought about it, and it was a valid concern. This calling I sensed, I wonder.  
"Don't overthink it Devin, alright? Let's just make it to the next town with our heads on shoulders."  
"Alright...ok."   
"You'll do fine kid. Consider this your first official adventure. It gets easier after this."

They quieted down after that, watching as the knights inspected the wardens possessions: weapons, potions, elixirs, seasonal clothing, a fair bit of gold; all gathered for a long journey.   
_Ah, the noble chevaliers poaching through their captives belongings, how charming. They pocketed some gold and grabbed some of the weapons, all but Roberta did. Whatever is she doing with this group?_  
She was the first to take watch, the whole time vigilantly watching the prisoners. Very dutiful; disciplined like a Qunari. Couldn't cut the ropes with her on the watch.   
"How did you get here my lady? You don't seem to be enjoying what you do very much." Aedan asked, with a slight smile on his face, trying to illicit a reaction. None was given, she just sat there with her hand gripping the hilt of the sword as the fire crackled in between them.  
"A dame such as yourself should be holed up in some Orlesian castle with..."  
"Shut. Up." She interrupted with calm, stern bitterness in her voice. He had got under her skin with that. _She is out here working for a pompous lordling, but doesn’t enjoy it. Maybe her parents wanted to marry her off but she went her own way? Wants to become a chevalier for honor? To escape?_  
"You think your parents approve of your career choice?" This time she did not respond, just looked at the warden with cold dead eyes, her posture shifting more aggressive as she gripped the hilt even tighter. Not only angry - despondent, like he had torn open an old stitched wound. That was all too familiar to him.  
She got up and marched towards the warden, hand on hilt still. As she bent down, she fixed the rag around his mouth. As Roberta turned back to her place she said "Go to sleep. Long day tomorrow."   
She sat there while Aedan caught some shut-eye, until Michel woke up to take the watch. He began reading a book shielding it and his head with a coat as he hunched over on the log.   
_Should keep him pre-occupied._  
Warden started sawing the ropes with the dagger clutched between his back and the tree. The wind was picking up as well as the rain. It was now pouring so hard, the umbrage of the forest was not helping at all. The dirt under him turned to mud rather quickly and the tree bark got viscid. The dried blood began washing down and getting into his eyes as his long hair stuck to his face rather annoyingly. The rope binding his wrists was off now, only the rope binding him to a tree remaining. A few minutes later it was loose enough to be snapped with one cut of the dagger. Warden unbound the rag with his mouth again and whispered, his voice masked by the sound of rain hitting the shrubbery and the puddles. "Devin. You up?"   
"Yes. Are we going now? That knight – Michel. He is still up."  
"Someone will always be up. This one is reading a book and..."  
Thunder echoed through the forest above.  
"...and he won't be quick to react. He is ten feet away, wearing armor and drudging through muck in the dead of night. He will be lucky if he sees what direction we run." He shot a quick, careful look towards the reading knight to see if he was still preoccupied.   
_Still reading, good._  
"Next strike of thunder the rope will snap. Run towards the road. Don't look back, use the trees for cover. Got that?"   
"Ok...ok, I am ready." Devin answered with his voice shivering, either from the cold rain or fear.  
Seconds felt like minutes now, Aedans heart was beating faster, adrenaline building up. He saw a flash of light pass through the skies.

 _Here we go._  
Thunder followed right after and the rope was snapped with one deft dagger move. Aedan swiftly got up, getting the feeling back into his legs, taking a quick glance back to make sure Devin was on the run. So he was.   
_Off towards the road, good.  
_Michel got up and shouted: "Get up! They are escaping!" As he drew his sword, throwing the coat and book down into the dirt.  
Aedan ran down into the woods away from the road avoiding the branches and roots as best he could. He heard the Orlesian shouts and chatter, glancing back smaller lights began emanating from beyond the leaves - torches. "Get the Warden! That way!"  
_Good. They are going after me. At least the kid is safe. I have to lead them on for at least a while, give him some time to make it to the road, get his bearings. If they lose me too fast they will get on the road.  
_He made sure to slow down, keep them in eye-sight. Wasn't hard with the four torches scattered behind him, frantically searching the woods.   
"I see him! There! Monsieur de Roche!" They sped up now, moved faster. Aedan had to pick up the pace, zig-zag in between the trees. The dirt was slippery, almost running down the slope of the hill. It was hard to be dexterous and elusive and not lose balance, even if he had the advantage of not wearing plate armor like his pursuers.   
_Pace your breath, focus on the ground. Shit! They are spreading out, surrounding me._  
An eerie crackle hissed through the woods, somewhere ahead. Like thunder but muffled. His focus stayed on the pursuers. Warden continued down the hill right up until he reached the edge of a near-vertical drop of flowing mud, moss and tree roots. He nearly lost his footing. Couldn't see much down there through the foliage and the veil of night.

 _Andrastes ass! Steep drop down there. Have to hide, bide my time, maybe get through them by force. This will be a challenge against four armored knights with a single dagger.  
_He hid behind a tree nearby, still hearing the Orlesian chatter behind him as the lights danced ever closer. He could hear the iron steps in the mud now, clanging of the armor and the drizzle of rain against it. One man, getting close.   
"Monsieur! I lost him!" Michel’s voice was tired, five feet from the tree, to the right. Aedan threw a piece of bark in a nearby bush to his right as he spun to the left around the tree and behind the pursuing knight. The dagger swiftly found his neck, just above the plate, cut clean through. The warden used his other hand to disarm the knight as he gargled blood in his throat, attempting to speak something incoherent. He pulled the blade out, spatter of blood shooting out of the dying man’s neck. He had a sword now as well as the dagger. Shouts from behind, not too far away.  
"Michel!" Aedan turned back to see the burly man, Basier charging him through the muck and punching away the branches out of his way. "You fucking mutt!"  
Aedan stepped out of the way of the swinging morningstar, retaliating with his sword at the back of his enemy. It clanged off the armor making a dent in the plate. Movement from behind, another knight swung a blade as Aedan instinctively brought up his dagger to parry the slash. Looking back he saw Roberta. Constance ran up at the same time, now surrounded by three knights and the steep fall at his back.  
"Screw the contract! You will die here now Warden, in the mud. Still going to pretend you are innocent?" Constance shouted at him filled with rage and righteousness. _Arrogant little shit._  
The same strange crackle sounded out as before, as a dim flash of greenish light shined from behind the warden.   
The knights got distracted for a brief second and Aedan used the opportunity. He stepped forward in a stabbing motion towards Constance. Parried. Basier used the opportunity to strike. Aedan barely spun away from the vicious swing, as the morningstar spikes grazed his shoulder, taking some skin off. Constance retaliated with an overhead, stepping forward but lost his footing in the mud or a root, came tumbling towards the warden knocking him off balance as well. Blood rushed into his bowels as the feeling of free-fall overcame him. His back hit the mud below and he was tumbling down the dirt slope. Orlesian shouts from above were growing dim and distant. He banged against some hardened roots and rocks, losing grip on the sword. He heard Constances gasps of pain as he was tumbling down next to him. The fall ended as quickly as it began. The disorientation engulfed him as Aedan was getting up to his knees gathering his bearings, wiping the muck and rain off his face. Another crackle from behind, much closer now and a ghastly flash of light. Aedan looked towards Constance who was about ten feet away, up on his feet and drawing his blade, looking towards the shimmering green light.   
"Maker's mercy!" He prayed.  
Warden shifted to his feet, dagger still in hand, looking towards the source of the light.   
A green, luminescent streak was hovering mid-air. Like a scar, like it did not belong. It shifted in the air unnaturally and malevolently, snapping with every move like a tortured animal. The rain was avoiding it, curving around the shape of the aberration.  
_Magic? A kind I haven't seen before that's for sure._

Within a moment the magical scar burst open like shifting ever so slightly, flowing like a bed-sheet in the wind. As it did, smaller tears began forming around it, behind the bushes within the trees, seemingly molding with the surroundings. He heard the two other knights coming down the hill slowly now.  
"Constance!" Roberta called out, as she saw the tear "What in Andrastes name is that?"   
"Fucking demons!" Basier shouted, pointing towards the newly emerging creatures from the scars, like puss from a wound.  
Dark, shadowy beings were creeping towards them. Covered in mismatched rags and made of rotting, purplish flesh. Black smog was forming in and around them, no legs to carry their floating visages.   
_Shades. I remember the bloody things. Spread throughout the Fereldan Circle of Magi like a plague. Those were spawned of mage summonings. These ones seemed different, more feral perhaps, as they menacingly and maniacally moved towards their prey, like wolves drawn to blood. No mage to speak of either._  
Two of the demons shifted towards Aedan letting out ghastly, inhuman moans. The other two engaged Constance. Basier and Roberta moved to help Constance as he nervously raised his sword in defense. Aedan dodged out of the way of a shadowy claw jutting towards him, making a quick slash with the dagger. Black, viscous blood poured from the creature in front as it remained unfazed. It felt no pain. Couple more dodges pushed Aedan further back from the glowing tear and the knights who desperately fighting off the demons. More began appearing from behind the trees. The knights were getting surrounded now and suddenly the two shades attacking the Warden turned around and glided back towards the light.  
_This is my chance. Let the bastards die and escape._  
Aedan ran towards the steep slope of the hill and began climbing it, grasping at the roots. The downpour was making the mud slide down the steep hill. He glanced back, watching Constances' near lifeless body being dragged by one of the shades behind a bush. He clawed at the dirt, whimpering.   
"Constance!" Roberta shouted in desperation.  
Warden kept trying to climb the unruly hill. He heard another screech of pain as Basier was being torn apart by three other shades, ripping through his armor like rags. Roberta was on her ass, backing up through the dirt, swinging her sword wildly; desperation and fear in her voice as she shouted out with every slash. The shades were slowly and carefully enveloping her like a pack of wolves.  
A gut reaction flashed through him, like a kick to the stomach. "Shit." The warden let go of the roots and jumped down the hill, softening his fall with a roll.   
"Hey!" He whistled as loud as he could. "Get up, run! They can't get far away from the scar!"   
Roberta looked at him for a brief moment with disbelief and surprise. Warden ran towards the shades, grabbing the dirt covered mace, next to the torn apart body of Basier, swinging at one of the shades, giving Roberta time to act. She quickly got back to her feet fending off the shades with wild arcing swings keeping them at bay and slowly backed off. Both warriors disengaged to opposite sides, Shades slowly following looking for opportunity to strike. As they retreated further the demons twisted in agony and slithered back into the overgrowth, back towards the green light.   
Aedan couldn't see Roberta anymore, just the faint glow of demonic green energy, shimmering through the leaves in the distance.

He made it up the running mud hill, back to where he fell and saw Roberta pull herself up not far from him. As she noticed the Warden she got into a stance with her sword drawn, pointing straight at him.   
"You are still our... my prisoner. Lay down your weapon." She commanded, still catching her breath.  
Warden exhaled with frustration.  
_What in Andrastes ass? She has got to be the most stubborn woman I have seen. Maybe I should have left her to die down there._  
He spun the morningstar and dropped it in the dirt.  
"I will come to Montsimmard, willingly." He looked at the knight sternly, thinking for a bit, awaiting her response. She watched him carefully, studying him for a moment.  
"What game are you playing Warden?" She snapped at him, almost bewildered.  
"No games. We find my squire, ride towards the city and I face the Wardens there. Isn't that what you were after?" I'm not sure what they were after anymore.  
Her eyes moved towards the bled out Michel not far away from them. He bled out slowly, trying to crawl, stop the puncture in his throat. "You killed him. You lead us all to die and now you say you will come peacefully?"  
"Do I look like a bloody mage to you? I had no idea there were demons in the woods. And your friend... I acted on instinct. You kidnapped me at swordpoint, what were you expecting?"  
She narrowed her brows, not letting eyes off the warden.  
"You will answer for this. If not for betraying Wardens, then for Michel's and Cons..." her voice broke down, "I was supposed to protect him!"  
"You did all you could. The demons would have killed you as well if you had stayed."  
Roberta steeled herself again. "I don't need your sympathy."

The magic down the hill crackled again.  
"Let's argue about this away from a pack of demons."  
"Move then. I am watching you warden."

They slowly made it back to the camp. The rain did not let down for a moment, pouring and weighing on Aedans clothes as his feet sank in the mud. Roberta behind him was murmuring something under her breath in Orlesian, a prayer for the fallen.   
_That won't do them any good. They are just sacks of meat and bone now, food for the wolves. Prayers for the dead. If the dead could hear us they would despise the living._  
The camp was dark now, only few charred embers remained in the campfire. Aedan moved to grab his bags. Some of the weapons and potions were taken by the knights, most remained. He pulled out two swords and went to sheathe them on his back as Roberta interrupted. "No weapons warden."   
He sighed. “Alright.”  
Aedan threw the bag towards her feet.

They gathered the bags and mounted their horses, unsaddling the other four steeds and letting them go. The two riders got back on the path heading towards Montsimmard. No words were exchanged for a long time and the rain did not stop until the sunrise.   
When the morning came it carried with it the fresh air that one felt just after the rain. A new day. Aedan feasted on a piece of dried jerky. He had forgotten of simple travel food during his years at Vigil. An arl had servants, cooks, luxury and with the blights gone it was a peaceful, calm life. For a while at least. The darkspawn didn't rest.  
A chill went up his spine and the back of his eyes stung, sending a jolting pain through his head. He closed his eyes for a moment as on instinct. 

_Skittering teeth. White, cat-like eyes glowing in the dark, darting side to side. Movement. We are running. Where? Back into the cave, to the dark, away from the sun and the peering eyes._

Aedan blinked hard to clear out the brief vision. He turned his head slightly to address his despondent travelling companion. “There are Darkspawn lurking in a cave, somewhere in..." He pointed ahead, west of the path "...that direction. If we are passing through the valley ahead, we might get jumped."  
Silence. Finally she responded. "We can get back on the highway. Might run into Duke Gaspards men."  
"Is that an issue for you?"  
"No. It should be fine... now." The last word came out feint and doleful.   
They turned off the beaten path, towards the Imperial Highway.  It was an easier travel than dredging through the forests and hills in between. Horses trotted on cobbled stone for a change. The highway was in disrepair from ages of use and abuse - a ruined relic of the Tevinter Empire. Now it endured another war.   
_The tales it would tell if it could._

They came across a band of soldiers; five men on foot wearing the colors of the Duke, military patrol by the looks of it. One of the men raised a hand to stop the travelers. "Where are you headed?"  
"Montsimmard." Warden responded.  
The soldier looked them up and down, no doubt noticing their sullied, worn clothing. "You look like you wrestled a bear." His compatriots chuckled.  
"What do they call it, a quick roll in the mud? Quite literally in this instance." He glanced back at Roberta, with a soft smile. Her face reddened with affront more than embarrassment as she clenched her jaw.  
The soldier looked the woman up and down silently, looked back at the Warden and laughed heartily as his companions joined him. "Well, you Fereldans sure know how to pick them. On your way then." The soldiers let out some whistles as they passed by, exchanging some japes and laughs.  
"I did not mean to sully your honor. The embarrassing story was distraction enough for them to let us pass quickly."   
"Just keep riding. We are not far from Verchiel." Roberta said.   
_Her fervor is certainly admirable if nothing else._

By the evening the city of Verchiel was in sight, but it wasn't a sight either of them expected. The city walls were surrounded by military tents, trebuchets and siege equipment and bustling with soldiers. Verchiel was under siege. Aedan looked at Roberta to gauge her reaction, she seemed befuddled.   
_Shit, the kid was supposed to wait for us here. He wouldn't have walked straight into the siege to ask around some Orlesian knights. He is smarter than that. He must have moved on towards Montsimmard, that's the only option.  
_"I will assume you didn't know that the city we were to stay the night was under attack?"   
"It is the Black Lions city." The knight answered matter-of-factly.  
_Gaspard. Most of his army has moved north, towards Val Royeaux no doubt. Still, it is quite the feat to besiege a city so far into your enemies lines. It will take a long time to actually end the siege and storming a city of this size will take many lives. How will the duke respond I wonder, send his armies back, or wait it out._  
"I believe we will be spending the night on the dirt once again my lady." Aedan gibed. No response from the knight as she studied the battlements.  
"Something troubling you my lady?"  
She turned to face him "Would you stop calling me that?"  
"I apologize. I had thought to make up for all the times you had not been called such." Aedan continued mocking her. Not a sign of emotion on her face, other than stern contempt.

Roberta clicked her tongue to get the horse moving and took the lead off the Highway to avoid the besieged city. They spent the night in a makeshift camp once again. Any attempts from Aedan to break through to her were promptly shut down. This continued for two more days as they rode towards Montsimmard making minimal stops on the road. But at least they were rarely bothered by anyone. The roads were near empty as the trade was cut off due to the siege, no caravans or even patrols. Some signs of battle could be noticed in the distance, nothing that would be troubling to the two riders. Troubling to the men and women fighting a pointless civil war perhaps.   
_At the very least they don't spill each-others blood during a blight, as the darkspawn breathe down their necks.  
_The betrayal at Ostagar still haunted him sometimes. Not as much as it haunted Alistair; he had lost a brother and a father that day. That's where it all began and now here he was amidst another civil war.

As days had gone by, the sight of Montsimmard was a welcome relief. Up on a hill, amidst groves and woods, farms and orchards stood a grand city with blue and white walls made of delicately crafted stone. It's multi-colored rooftops were glistening from far above the city walls. The wealthier mansions and castles could be seen from miles away, among them a grey tower with a large silver griffin perched on top - the Warden headquarters – Palestone Sword. Unlike the last city this one seemed at peace. The walls and towers surrounding it, however, seemed fortified and ready for an attack.  
As the two travelers rode closer to the main gates, the bustle at the entrance was noticeable. Traders and refugees, shouting and begging for entry into the city. Arguments in Common and Orlesian tongue all around, disputes and pleas for mercy. Apothecaries were taking care of the wounded peasants and soldiers along the dozens of cots and tents stationed around the city gates. Cries from children and moans of pain could be heard throughout. Chaos of war touched even this city. The riders gently pushed through the crowd of peasants seeking entry and approached the guards holding off the displeased protesters.   
"Refugees? Deserters? Either way no haven here for the likes of you." A gruff man wearing a helmet responded, clearly fed up with what must be every-day routine.  
"Roberta de Roche. I have returned with a Warden."   
_De Roche? Was she Constances... well shit._

The guardsman looked her up and down, scoffed, turned around and made a spinning motion with his finger to the man in the gate-towers. The mechanisms clicked and the portcullis raised slowly, as the guardsmen shouted down the crowd in front of them, pushing them back to avoid bloodshed. The two riders were let past the gates into the bustling city.  
Aedan turned to his companion, "I didn't know that..."  
"It's not what you think warden. Find your squire and we must meet with the Marquise. She will want to see the man who took this much effort to find." She interrupted, with bitterness in her voice.  
_This is going to get much more difficult before it gets simpler._


	4. A Gilded Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warden finds himself in a familiar situation, among nobility and trying to follow up on the warden archives to seek out the cure for the calling.

"I hope you haven't forgotten your manners, squire." Aedan said as the horses trotted up the cobbled pathways towards Chateau Roche, past the wandering nobles dressed as extravagantly as the ones you could see in Val Royeaux.  
_No matter where in Orlais, they make sure you can tell them apart from the common folk. No expense spared._  
"I think I will manage ser. I've read some books on Orlesian nobility on the way here, customs and history." Devin declared with pride.  
"That is quite the feat young Devin. Should I learn to curtsy?"  
"No ser, Lady Roberta would curtsy. You would have to bow. Left leg backwards, right hand on chest, left arm stretched out to the side and chin touching collar."  
"That was a rhetorical question squire."  
_The kid is like a damn knife. Sharp on one side, dull on the other._  
"Besides, I was born a noble as well, remember? I think I can handle pompous nobles."  
"From what I have read, Orlesians are quite different than Fereldens."  
"Astute observation squire."  
Devin trotted closer to the warden and continued in a more hushed tone, out of earshot of Roberta who was leading the way a few paces ahead. "Ser, do you think we are in trouble? Lord Constance was the Marquises and Lady Roberta's relative. What should we do?"  
Aedan did not comply with the secretive tone and spoke as loudly as he did before. "We could ask Roberta if you are so curious."  
The knight ahead of them turned her head slightly "I can hear you, you know?"  
The kid reddened quickly "I'm... I'm sorry my lady. I didn't mean to pry."  
"I find it is often best to pry and receive a direct answer, rather than stumble blindly." Aedan continued his squires haphazard apology, directing it at Roberta.  
"Her Grace will sate your curiosity. She is much better at talking than I am." There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.  
"Talking is an over-rated skill, isn't that right Devin?"  
"You would know best. Ser."  
_Well, at least the kid is growing some teeth at last._

"I never asked, how did you get past the siege?" Aedan inquired.  
"Uhm, I had a cart. Well, not me, the tailor man you mentioned. I met him on the road. Stanislav Siers. He was on his way out the city, bargaining with some soldiers for an escort I think. Luckily he remembers you ser, so I got a ride in his carriage. He is staying in the city I think.” He had a guilty look on his face. “Sorry I didn’t look for you sooner.”  
"That's quite alright Devin.”  
"I wanted to tell him that we were kidnapped but the others were listening, I wasn't sure if the Empresses men were looking for a warden as well."  
"They aren't." Roberta cut in solemnly and continued trotting.  
"That's fine Devin. It was smarter not to tell him. What happened at the siege?"  
"They let us pass. Serah Siers told them I was his apprentice from Ferelden. They don't pay much attention to a simple squire anyways." And here's that humility and lack of confidence.  
"You are smarter than most adults I have come across, alright?" Aedan said to encourage the kid. "Then again that doesn't say much." _Can't have him grow too full of himself._  
The Chateau Roche was in sight now, as they turned a corner past the gates into the gardens. About the size of the Vigil, this one looked much more noble and affluent. Built of white marble and yellow tinted stone, sky blue banners hanging from the arches and towers adorned with three golden flowers. The peaks of the roofs and towers were decorated with gold crafted flower petals. The lavish flower gardens almost seeped into the architecture as countless rose vines stretched up the marble walls.  
Several guards clad in full-plate armor and golden mask helmets all carrying halberds patrolled the gardens. Two of them, guarding the entrance to the chateau gardens glanced at Roberta and let the riders pass without a word.

The travelers dismounted at the stables and moved into the chateau, following Roberta. She seemed determined, steeling herself for the confrontation, anxious. _  
More nervous than she was when confronting me in that bloody forest._  
As the engraved elegant twin doors parted, they were greeted by a man; old but lean and stoic with a face that was obviously worn out by years of dutiful serving and talking to patience testing nobles.  
"Madame Roberta, how delightful to see you back home." He said in a steady and courteous manner. His brows curled up in a surprise for a moment as he looked at the warden and the squire. "We have guests, I see. Allow me to graciously welcome you to Chateau Roche. I am the steward of the house, you may call me Bazil." He bowed courtly. "May I ask you your names.”  
"Aedan Cousland. This is my squire Devin Eremon." The squire bowed according to his Orlesian book. _Greeting a steward as he would an Empress. Charming.  
_As he announced himself, Roberta shot a look at the warden that was hard to place.  
The steward continued. "Madame Roberta. I see that you are here with two charming guests, but if I may ask, why is Lord Constance not with you?"  
"Could you ask for the Marquise, Bazil?" She evaded the question.  
"At once." The man turned on his heel like a toy soldier and headed up the large stairs in the middle of the grand hall. As Aedan took in his surroundings the interior was quite lavish and extravagant, obviously so.  
_Flaunting their riches. The Roches were either extremely wealthy or in debt to their necks._

After a moment of awkward silence as they stood waiting for the lady of the house, Roberta inhaled and spoke. “Why didn’t you tell us you were the Hero of Ferelden.”  
“I think you were past believing me after you gagged me.”  
“You could have told us from the start, or tried to convince us.” She argued. “This could have been avoided.” She said and looked down at her feet. Sounded like it was meant more for herself than the Warden.  
“I had no proof of who I was.” He struggled to say anything else. Aedan didn’t mistrust her, but he didn’t trust her either.  
_What is the point of telling her why I am here anyway? Just get through this and move on._

After ten minutes of patient waiting, a woman wearing an elegant, blue ball gown, slowly and gracefully began walking down the stairs. Bazil, posted statuesque like at the bottom of the stairs announced her impassively and boomingly: "May I present to you, Her Grace Marquise Beatrix Adeline de Roche! The two gentlemen guests are Warden Commander Cousland of Ferelden and his squire Devin Eremon." Aedan bowed his head slightly, one hand on chest.  
The noblewoman kept walking down the stairs, one hand gently sliding on the golden railing, her head held high.  
She was wearing an ornate golden mask resembling an owl, cherry blonde hair tied in a bun behind it. She stopped at the third step from the bottom and finally spoke up. "What a pleasure to have the Hero of Ferelden in our humble chateau. I do apologize for it being a terrible mess, we did not expect guests at such a time." A feint smile was curled on her lips as she spoke, eyes fixed on the warden through the slits in the mask. Unshaken and armed with disciplined courtesy, she reminded him of a qunari, just more elegant and pleasing.

"Your grace." Roberta spoke up politely.  
"Roberta, dear, it is so good to see you back from your travels. I cannot wait until you and my brother share your adventures with us." She glanced at her guests, noticing the dour looks on their faces, sensing something was wrong but not showing it a slight bit.  
"Your Grace… Constance..." she steeled herself "He fell in battle."  
Lady Beatrix gasped in shock covering her mouth with her gloved hand, almost theatrically. _  
Even in the face of a real tragedy it is evidently hard to give up the 'Game'._  
She stabilized herself holding onto the railing. " _Lord_ Constance." She corrected the knight. "How did he die?" the noblewoman continued.  
"Vile demons overwhelmed him. He fought them bravely."  
_Bravely, quivering in his greaves and screaming as they tore into his spine._  
"And where were you Roberta?" the lady prodded. That noticeably took her aback, anger and despair flushed across her face then she hung her head apologetically. "I wasn't strong enough. I failed him your grace."  
"Oh, don't do that dear! You know I hate when you do that." She said, as if forgetting her brother’s death already. "He was a brash young man. I feared he would one day fall. At least my dear Constance fell fighting bravely and did not turn his back on the danger, just like a true Chevalier." Her words were filled with venom. She turned her head back towards Aedan, putting back on the mask of a courteous noble. "I do hate for you to see me like this, on this morbid day. You must stay for dinner tonight as a guest of honor. You must be exhausted from your long travels, poor dear. We will prepare a guest room and you may stay as our guest, yes?"  
_It would be impolite to refuse and I intend to stay in the city to seek out the Orlesian Wardens regardless. She definitely wants me for something, having King Alistair's advisors ear and a Commander of the Grey to boot would be beneficial to any opportunistic schemer._  
It would be a change of pace sleeping in a decent bed.  
"It would be a pleasure, your Grace. I don't want to abuse your generosity, however, so we must depart the following day."  
"Wonderful! I shall make the arrangements. Bazil!" She commanded the old steward, who immediately bowed and turned to his duties. "You may come and go as you please, if you need anything simply call for Bazil or one of the servants. I must attend to my letters unfortunately. It was a pleasure to meet you." She curtsied and made her way back upstairs as gracefully as she came down.  
Roberta stood there, lost in thought, staring at the marble mosaic floor. Aedan put his hand on her shoulder cautiously. She recoiled in surprise but quickly relaxed as if snapping back from a nightmare.  
"Would you like to come along to the Warden Tower my lady? You look like you could use some fresh air and a walk."  
"I could use punching something." She responded with something that could be taken as a joke if not for the stoic, intense look on her face.

Regardless, she followed the Warden and his squire. Feeling lost and alienated from her home she needed somewhere to be, someone to follow at least for a while until the fire settled. Roberta seemed a warrior first and foremost - a soldier who followed orders. Failing someone who lead her - Constance, and a relative to add, hit her hard.  
_When you take the blinders off a horse it will either become free or lost._  
After moments of riding through the bustling city streets Aedan broke the silence. "Why were you hunting a faceless warden?"  
"Constance offered to hunt a traitor for the Grey Wardens. We knew he was a man, a warden, Fereldan and traveling alone."  
"Three out of four isn't too bad as far as odds go."  
"I am sure Constance thought the same." She replied in a dejected tone.  
"You still didn't answer why you were hunting him."  
"I did. Why the Wardens wanted him, I don't know. I am sure they will tell you at the tower." She tried to avoid any conversation. The wound was fresh.  
"I am sure they will, but I can't resist hearing your snappy retorts. My lady." She averted her eyes and exhaled through the nose, like a bull.  
_At least she looks the part._

Warden Tower was soon in sight, reaching above the surrounding castle walls and house roofs, it stood alone, resolute and resilient. It barely fit in; a grey stone tower among the colorful, exuberant Orlesian buildings. The castle gates were open and dozens of workers were packing carriages and horses. A couple of town guards were stationed at the gates. They let the three riders pass without trouble after Aedan announced himself. They stabled their horses and continued on towards the Tower hall doors. The men and women buzzing around them were carrying sacks, crates and barrels; slinging them over the horsebacks and packing them into carriages.  
_They must be relocating, but why?_  
The man at the doors directed them to the meeting chambers at the end of the grand hall.  
_Not a warden, then again I don't sense many wardens here at all. This kind of mass movement doesn't happen often. Short of a blight, and last I checked I stopped one._  
A dark haired, tan young man stepped out of the meeting chamber, parting one of the large doors. He was wearing a simple warden tunic and Aedan quickly realized that was the warden he sensed before. _The only warden in this bloody city._  
His jaw clenched.  
_This doesn't have to be a waste of time, the man must still know of their whereabouts._  
The young warden spoke up in an Orlesian accent: "Welcome to the Palestone Sword. I am Aren, acting steward of the castle."  
"Commander Cousland of Ferelden." The kids eyes widened in surprise with a hint of worry. "Where are the rest of the wardens?"  
"May I say, it is a great honor to have the Hero of..."  
"Skip the pleasantries. Just answer my question." He interrupted as his patience was quickly wearing thin. He needed answers, he needed to know where the wardens have gone.  
"Well, messere, I wish I had an answer for you. Commander Clarel organizes the movements of the Orlais chapter, I was simply left to oversee the castle and moving of provisions." He is hiding something, avoiding the question, not of his own accord that's for sure. Why would Clarel be secretive about this especially to other wardens?  
"You do realize that I am a Warden. If Clarel ordered you to keep the warden movements secret from the nobles that is understandable. I need to seek them out of my own accord."  
Aren considered for a second. "I understand messere. No one was expecting for the Commander of Ferelden chapter to come to Orlais." He sighed. "We heard it. All of us." He said as he looked at Roberta and Devin, unwilling to speak of the Calling in their presence.  
_What? If all the wardens heard the Calling, what is it? Another Blight, an Archdemon?_  
The young warden continued. "Have... have you heard it too?"  
Aedan looked to the side, to Roberta and Devin who both wore a confused look on their faces. He turned back to Aren.  
"I need to know where they went. Did they take all of the records with them?"  
"All of the important records were stolen from the archives recently and I told you that Commander Clarel..."  
"Yes, yes she organizes movements and you don't know anything. Where are the supplies headed then?" He interrupted the young warden again, more impatient and brazen. A worried look washed across Aren’s face.  
"The supply caravans are headed into many different places, different directions. Some towards the Western Approach, some to the north, towards Weisshaupt, some to Tevinter."  
"So we are narrowing it down, good. Where did Clarel head out?"  
"I truly do not know. I know she was headed north. Please, messere, I cannot tell you more." There was desperation in the young man’s voice, whether because he truly did not know or because he was on his last strand of lies, warden could not tell.  
He looked into the young wardens eyes, studying him. Looks like I'm back to square one, unless... "You had a warden go rogue recently, didn't you?"  
His eyes narrowed. "May I ask how you know about that?"  
"Found out about it the hard way." He glanced at Roberta.  
She spoke up as on queue. "My cousin Lord Constance de Roche offered to hunt him down for Commander Clarel."  
"Ah yes, Lord Constance. I apologize for not recognizing you my Lady."  
"It's fine.”  
"You were telling us about the traitor." Aedan continued.  
"Yes. Of course." He sighed again rubbing the back of his neck. "Senior Warden Damon attempted to wrest control from Commander Clarel. If not for her… timely intervention, he would have succeeded."  
"Take over the Orlais division? Why? A political move?"  
"No messere, I don’t think so. Damon wasn't interested in politics and we did not get the chance to question him. He escaped from his cell before the trial.”  
"Any idea where he was headed?"  
"None, messere. To be honest Commander was not too worried about him.”  
“Not too worried? Didn’t you say that most records were stolen from the archives recently?”  
“Ah, well, he may have taken them I suppose. I was not informed.”  
_There is nothing else I will get out of him, he is too loyal to his superior. Why all this secrecy from her fellow Wardens? Does she mistrust the order or Ferelden perhaps? There has been bad blood between Orlais and Ferelden for decades, even between Wardens. Loghain didn't do much to calm it over. Bastard cut off their entry into the country during the Blight._  
"I think we are done here."  
The young warden nodded with relief. "I must return to my duties now. I wish you luck in your travels Commander and you Lady Roberta." He bowed lightly and retreated back to the meeting chamber slipping through the door-crack, shutting it behind him.

The three travelers made it outside back on their horses.  
"Let's head back to the chateau. I for one cannot wait to join the noble festivities."  
She just shook her head in response, unamused.  
"Tell me Roberta, why did Constance join up to hunt down the traitor. He was a noble, surely not looking for a reward. Was it glory?"  
She was staring down at the horses head as she rode, in contemplation. "Constance wanted to become a Warden. He revered them, their heroism."  
"It's not that difficult to conscript yourself."  
_But it is difficult to actually become a warden. Wonder if the lordling would have changed his tune if he knew about the Joining._  
"It is difficult for a noble with duties and obligations to family." She did not want to share more than that, clearly.

By the time they returned to the Chateau Roche it was already more vibrant and festive. Servants were running about, preparing the decorations, cleaning and getting the premises ready for quite the noble dinner party.  
"Is that all for me?" Aedan asked coyly, leaning back in saddle to look at his companions.  
Roberta rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. This is quite regular for Orlesian nobility warden."  
_As blunt as the front end of a hammer._

The steward approached them as they stabled their horses. "Madame Roberta. Monsieurs. Her grace has informed me to escort you to your rooms so that we can prepare you for the dinner party."  
"Prepare us? We might as well be heading into battle." Aedan replied, to which a slight smile curled on the steward’s face.  
"Ah, yes. _The game._ Go ahead then, show us to our rooms."  
_The quicker this is done with the better. Although if my time in Val Royeaux was of any indication, every bloody noble wants something and do their mouths begin to water at the sight of the Hero of Ferelden. Let's hope I still remember what Leliana taught me. Fereldan politics are a child's play compared to the Game. She was right of course. A show of force and a blade through a traitors heart swiftly stopped a rebellion back in Denerim. Chances are a lot more blood will spill before Gaspard and Celene settle. Simpler times._

Aedan was separated from Devin and Roberta as they entered the chateau. The halls were gilded and lavish yet felt all too empty. As lustrous as gold was it was still as cold as iron.  
A servant escorted him. Small elven girl with sweet common charm and red hair falling to her shoulders.  
They made it to his 'guest room' eventually. Even his quarters in Highever seemed modest compared to it. Windows covered with intricate long curtains. At least fifteen foot high ceiling adorned with a golden chandelier in the middle, illuminating the room along with the large fireplace. A queen sized bed across from it. A chair and a washbasin were awaiting the Warden’s arrival in the middle of the grand room.

"My lord. Her grace has asked me to shave your beard." The elven woman said sheepishly, looking at the floor, clutching her hands in front of her.  
"She asked you to shave my beard?"  
"It would be unseemly to show up at a noble dinner with a... ungroomed facial hair my lord."  
"Are you implying I have been rolling through rain and mud in the wilderness?" Aedan asked. Her guard raised as she took a slight step back and bowed anxiously.  
"No, my lord, I wouldn't dare imply..."  
"Oh for Makers sake, you Orlesians need to relax." He interrupted the elf. "It was a jest, you can stop bowing." He smiled to ease her tension.  
"Yes, my lord." She stood up as straight as her humility let her, head still down, not making eye contact.  
"Her grace may have a point. I was trudging through muck for days, not to mention a sea voyage. I do need a bath." He looked back towards a door at the other end of the room, pointing towards it. "That way?"  
"Yes, my lord."  
Aedan made his way towards it, taking off the tunic in the process. He immediately heard her slipper skim the floor as the servant turned around on her heel.  
_First bath since Vigil. What was it? Almost a month._  
Simple pleasures like these reminded him of more peaceful times. The privilege of a noble upbringing was soured after all he has seen during the Blight. The poverty, the squalor. Things he was shielded from in his younger years.  
_Some things never change. There will always be a war, there will always be a poor family scraping by to buy an overpriced loaf of bread and feed their child._  
_Ah and this is why I prefer not to be left alone with my thoughts._  
Aedan exited the bathroom after twenty minutes as the water was getting lukewarm. He sat down in the shaving chair. The elf’s back was still facing him as she was inspecting a landscape painting hung above an armoire, depicting what looked like a wyvern-hunt.

"It's a beautiful painting." He said. The elf startled and turned around rapidly.  
"I apologize." She responded as she saw him sitting down wearing only trousers. Her head dropped to look to the floor again as she peered at the gruesome scar stretching from his abdomen to the side of his ribs. "I did not hear you my lord."  
"That's alright." Noticing her shyness he continued, "It's not like you haven't seen a mans chest before." He teased, but the elf’s face reddened as she clenched her hands to the point of them becoming red to match. She dawdled towards him.  
_Big fucking mouth Aedan._  
"I apologize. I did not mean it that way." He said, trying to make eye contact, but could barely see her face behind the hair hanging from the sides. She did not respond.  
"I would hate to insult a woman who is about to hold a razor to my throat." Aedan tried to lighten the mood. She was behind him by now, preparing the shaving soap.  
"As you say, my lord." He could hear a light smile from her voice.  
As she applied the soap to his beard thoroughly, slicking his hair back out of the way, Aedan focused on the painting from before. It depicted a beautiful alpine landscape in the background. In fore an Orlesian knight battling a blue wyvern. Aedan has only seen them in books and other paintings. _  
Hear say, most of them have been hunted out by the Orlesians and the ones that are not are prized trophy hunts, for their venom mostly. Among using it for poisons and potions it is also used in alcohol._  
_It would be Orlesians who would drink the poison of a bloody wyvern._  
"I never caught your name." Aedan spoke up.  
"Sheila, if it pleases you my lord."  
He leaned his head back to look at the elf. Her eyes nervously darted to the side as she continued rubbing the soap. He leaned back to face the painting.  
"Tell me the story behind this painting Sheila."  
After a moment of contemplation she began. "It depicts the heroism of Marquis Valerin de Roche the Second, father of Her Grace Beatrix de Roche and cousin once removed by marriage to Emperor Florian. The tale tells of Marquis Valerin going on a wyvern hunt along the Emperor and countless other nobles and chevaliers. The hunt grew long and stale as fruitless nights passed and scouts returned with no sign of a wyvern, until Marquis' hound woke the camp up in a howling and barking in the direction of an evergreen valley - the Verdant Narrows. They say Marquis was the first one to his horse and darted ahead, without waiting for the other hunters. His Grace was known for his extravagance and boisterousness as well as his respect towards men and women who worked the chateau. Servants often heard his hearty laugh as he shared stories with them.”  
"You speak highly of him." Aedan prodded as the razor stopped grazing his cheek to let him speak.  
"My mother and grandparents served His Grace, he was well liked among the servants." She answered continuing the shave. Something in her voice told him that the current Marquise did not have the same respect from the servants.  
_Better not to say it or the poor girl will add a scar to my face._

"The painting." She reminded herself. "Marquis rode ahead of the noble hunters in pursuit of his hound and what he had sensed. But his pursuit was halted when the hound slowed down and circled, looking for the trail desperately. It all seemed lost until a scream startled Marquis, a shout for help from none else than the Emperor Florian himself. Brave Marquis spurred his horse until it bled in a hurry to save His Imperial Majesty. He arrived to the sight of a mighty blue wyvern towering over the Emperor. Marquis lept off his horse to save his lord and with one swing of a sword cut off the beasts claw that would have grabbed the Emperor otherwise.”  
"I noticed his painted brother was short one paw." Aedan jested. The elf giggled quietly but swiftly stopped herself to focus on the shave and the story.  
"Standing himself between the Emperor and the Wyvern he forced it away, shouting down the beast into submission. The wyvern grew desperate and filled with rage to match Marquis' and lunged head first into His Grace. Unfortunately for the wyvern, Marquis Valerin was a skilled chevalier and with a deft sidestep, he decapitated the beast in a single mighty strike. Or so the story goes. Emperor Florian threw a grand feast for his savior and newfound friend that day and offered him anything he wished: titles, riches, favors. Marquis famously responded with 'Keep the wine flowing Your Majesty!' to the chagrin of all the present nobles, which highly amused the Emperor."  
"You should tell stories more often." Aedan replied as Sheila was finishing shaving his neck, moving to the jaw.  
Smiling at the compliment, she continued. "Emperor Florian once shared his friendship and fondness for Divine Beatrix and how she hated her Divine name and title. Marquis remembered this and on Emperors name day, as a jest, vowed to name his firstborn child Beatrix, even if it was a boy." Sheila washed the razor once the story and the beard was finished.  
"I apologize my lord. I did not mean to say that. I forgot my place." She corrected herself with trepidation and anxiousness in her voice as she patted down Aedans face with a towel.  
"I take it Her Grace does not like the story of her names conception." She did not respond to that, only held her head down ashamedly, putting away the tools. She then stood in front of Aedan as he sat rubbing his shaved chin uncomfortably.  
"My lord, I apologize for being so flustered. You are the Hero of Ferelden and your exploits are known far and wide as is your heroism." She spoke in a dulcet, impassive tone like reciting a prayer at a chantry.  
"If I had a copper every time someone said that." He responded, still feeling the unfamiliar bare skin on his face.

Suddenly a knee landed in between his thighs as the elf sat on his right leg, gently laying her hands on his chest and pressing her lips into his. He stirred at this sudden attack as the elf’s hands pushed into his chest with nails, while his tongue and lips moved almost on their own accord and his hand reached for her hip instinctively.  
_What in Andrastes tits?_ He gathered himself, gently pushing away the elf's chin.  
"You know, people usually ask for an autograph."  
"I am sorry, my lord. Do you like it slower?" She gently caressed his chest with her hands now, leaning in for another kiss. He grabbed her hands and held them down to her thighs.  
"Would you stop for a mommm..." Her mouth landed on his once again. He stood up now, forcing the elf to her feet as well.  
"What is it with you woman?"  
She bowed her head down in shame, face turning red from embarrassment. "I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to offend. I only aimed to please." She stumbled through the apology.  
_Oh of course. The bloody Marquise got her up to it. No doubt currying a favor, making me feel welcome and comfortable. I bet she hand-picked the red-head among her servants too. How bloody predictable, and I almost fell for it._  
"Alright. You don't need to do anything like that Sheila."  
"Her Grace will throw me out. Please my lord, don't send me away!" She pleaded, now looking at him desperately with wide, watery eyes.  
_The Marquise is quite ruthless with her politics it appears. Did not take to her father in that regard it seems._  
"I will not send you away, all right? Dry your eyes." She pulled out a handkerchief from her dress pocket, patting at her eyes and composing herself. "But you will also not need to sleep with me on some nobles orders."  
Wiping off her tears she inquired nervously, "What... what would you have me do then, my lord."  
Aedan looked around the room, noticing several other large paintings. "There are still stories left to be told. Besides, someone needs to help me get into these bloody Orlesian clothes."

 


	5. Broken Fetters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New and old faces reveal themselves among the masked Orlesian nobles. Recent mistakes pay their toll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a new chapter. I cut Chapter 4 in two because it was too long and I think flows better as two separate chapters. Sorry for the confusion.

Aedan sat side by side with the elf on the bed, listening to her melodic canting of history.  
Within the hour, Sheila unveiled the tales of the Roche family, heroic deeds and the family's past. They came from humble beginnings as tradesmen who married into royalty and nobility and earned their family name through shrewdness and ambitious politics, until the previous Marquise – Valerin. He had been generous and gregarious to the point where he spent much of the family wealth on his friends and distant family as many took advantage of his nature. The elven servant was reserved when asked about the current Marquise.   
The noblewoman appeared to be very politically astute and secretive as most of her ilk. She seemed to be a control freak; proper conduct, a servant for company, the shave, the specific clothes that were sent to the room. Dark grey trousers, tall leather boots with silver buckles, a simple elegant silk shirt and a layered thick cotton vest, blue with white streaks. Very warden-esque, but a lot more elegant than what the order would actually wear.

Aedan stood on the balcony as the sun went down, remembering his days on that little island in the Waking Sea with his love.  
_We spent barely a month there together but it was bliss. No world shaking events, no tragedies, no news from the world around us, just us. If there ever was a heaven, it was right there and then._

A bell rung out throughout the palace halls.  
A knock on the door followed not long after.  
"Come on in."  
The double doors parted and Bazil entered, hands behind him, chin high. "If monsieur would follow me, we will begin the dinner."

He was escorted to the ball room – illustrious and royal. It was expansive, with marble floors and frescoed ceilings, illuminated as if by hundreds of candles while the night loomed through the windows. In the center was an opulent dinner table shaped in a half circle, more than twenty feet long with more and more dishes being brought in by the servants. Half score masked nobles dressed as extravagantly as one might expect from such a gathering were spread throughout the ball room, chatting, gossiping, scheming. A bard played his lute in the corner, spreading a somber melody through the chamber.

Marquise approached the warden, dressed in a sky blue ball gown with a high feathered collar, stretching behind her back and head. Her shoulders adorned with golden shoulderpads, shaped like flowers. Concealing her face was a mask, same one she wore when they first met. Her blonde hair was done in two large buns at the back of her head. She gracefully extended her hand towards the warden.  
He gently held it up to his lips and kissed it.  
"Your Grace. You look enchanting this evening."  
"Why, thank you. You clean up well yourself monsieur. Your presence at our humble soiree does me great honor."  
"Have you seen my squire - Devin, your Grace?"  
"Oh yes, he must be around somewhere." She effortlessly waved her hand in a vague direction. "Please, mingle, enjoy your evening, we will talk more soon. I promise." She touched his shoulder with her gloved fingers and returned to her other guests.  
_Now where is the kid?_

He soon noticed Devin - all dressed up to match the attending nobles but still stuck out as a sore thumb. He anxiously paced next to the walls, inspecting the sculptures and paintings decorating the ball room.  
"Devin!" Warden poked the back of his shoulder.  
"Maker..." The kid jumped in shock and quickly turned to face the assailant. "Commander." He continued with equal relief and annoyance in his voice.  
"I see you are fitting in. Has that book on Orlesian culture been any help?" Aedan asked jokingly.  
"No ser, I prefer to not... talk to the nobles here."  
"That's good Devin. Now don't drink too much, don't tell the nobles anything about yourself or me, just stick to pleasantries if you are ambushed, maybe excuse yourself if going gets rough. You'll figure it out. Oh, and don't eat the cheese."  
"I think I can handle the cheese ser."  
Aedan scoffed "Alright young Devin. Don't tell me I didn't warn you." He put his arm around the squire’s shoulder and in a more hushed tone continued. "No one has tried to seduce you have they?"  
The kids face reddened slightly. "Uhmm... no?"  
Aedan noticed a familiar face at the banquet table. "Good! I’ll go see about that cheese." He said, letting go of the kid and slapping him on the shoulder.

He strode towards the bald man, forcing a pleasant ‘not right now’ smile every time he passed any nobles wishing to start up a conversation.  
“Stanislav Siers!” Aedan announced as the old wiry man shot down a glass of brandy in one go, biting it down with a cube of cheese.  
“This shit’s awful. Tastes like fuckin’ misery.” He said in his gravely voice and the thick Ferelden accent that was refreshing to Aedan’s ears, considering his recent company.  
“Glad to hear you haven’t changed.” The old man shot down another glass. “Thanks for helping out the kid. We got into a bit of trouble on the road.”  
“You’re welcome.” Stanislav fussily picked through the lavish table as if looking for a specific snack. “Devin Eremon. Alfstanna’s boy I take it. Can’t even tell he’s a half-breed from looks.”  
“He has a penchant for elven lore, but I doubt one has anything to do with the other.” Aedan answered. He had rarely considered his squires heritage, apart from the fact that he knew his elven father had died.  
“What brings you here?” Aedan changed the subject.  
“I’m a fuckin’ tailor Aedan. We are in Orlais. There’s good business to be had despite the war, or maybe because of it.”  
“Any interesting dress commissions?” Aedan asked, hoping to get some information.  
Stanislav let out a short and hollow cackle. “Andraster’s tits, did the redhead teach you to talk like this? I don’t work for her anymore, remember? That means you too.”  
“And I took you for a patriot.”  
“Being a patriot doesn’t pay much. Ah, there you are!” He grabbed a rotten looking cube of cheese stuck on a toothpick and picked it off with his teeth, savoring its taste. “They call this ‘Rapture over the Golden Plains’. Disgusting.”  
“I’ll leave you to it then. Thanks again.”  
Aedan turned to leave as he heard Stanislav speak. “Warden. I suggest you leave the city as soon as you can. The jobby that happened at Verchiel isn’t the end of it, among other curious rumors. Oh, and I hope you got a plan for whatever you’re here for, unlike the last dozen of times where you tossed around like a clueless walloper.”  
“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Aedan paced the hall, looking at the nobles chatting, trying to avoid any conversation. Despair was in their voices, talk of a tragedy that had occurred and a word hotly thrown around - Inquisition. An ancient organization or sub-sect of the Chantry that rose up sometime after the first blight as far as Aedan knew.

He noticed Roberta. A bizarre sight and barely recognizable. She wore a black and gold dress that would have looked elegant on anyone other than her, she looked as uncomfortable as she felt no doubt. Her hair was cleanly slicked back into a ponytail and the makeup did a poor job of concealing her sharp, firm features. She stumbled the halls like a wounded doe, scanning the room with an anxious and almost scared look on her face.  
Some nobles quietly snickered as she passed them by but quickly shut up once she shot a fierce look back at them.  
Aedan approached her with two glasses of wine in hand.  
"My lady, you look like you need a drink."  
"Maker, yes." She grabbed it out of his hand and gulped it down in a second.  
"Not your type of event?" He asked, extending his arm to walk with her. She looked at him with a puzzled look.  
"I can walk on my own."  
"I don't doubt that, but if you wish to avoid talking to these people you might want to stick with me."  
Roberta hesitantly held onto his arm and continued walking clumsily alongside the warden. There was something incredibly attractive in stirring up the outrage among the nobles. An unlady-like woman of low nobility walking with and chatting to the Hero of Ferelden, while all the perfumed, dressed up social climbers stand on the sidelines and watch.  
_The simple things in life._

"I never got the chance to apologize. What I said back at the camp, about your parents? It was uncalled for." Her face was ever stoic as she looked straight ahead as they walked. She did not respond.  
"We have all lost something, how that loss affects us is what makes us who we are." Something snapped in her as she looked at the warden with a melancholy look. Before she could say anything a bell rung out throughout the room and the nobles burst out in applause, turning their attention to the center of the room.

The Marquise spoke as the ovation died down and silence set in. "I welcome all my dear friends to this soiree that will hopefully wash away these unfortunate events and celebrate what many have forgotten in these trying times. Reverence, cordiality and peace. So let us be their shepherds and lead by example as Andraste herself would have."  
The crowd applauded once again in agreement.  
"We also welcome an honored guest this night." She looked towards the steward who was standing by her and extended her hand to bring the crowds attention to the Warden.  
"Lord Aedan Cousland. Hero of Ferelden, Warden Commander of Ferelden, Kingmaker, Chancellor of the Crown and Arl of Amaranthine." The crowd once again applauded looking at the warden and Roberta with their arms interlocked.  
"And it seems a suitor to my dear cousin." Marquise joked. The nobles shared a polite, posh chuckle. "Now please, gather for the feast our dear guests."

Following the marquise the nobles gathered in their seats around the grand table. Everybody's name was noted on small parchments laid out at every seat.  
Aedan had the seat of honor to the right of the Marquise. Roberta, strangely, was seated several seats away from the lady of the house. Perhaps not as strange, considering the circumstances. Devin was sat just right to Aedan as well and next to him a younger noblewoman. Judging by her attire and compared to everyone else she did not seem too rich or of a prestigious ranking. She was here with her parents, likely looking for a match.  
_This resembles more a battle plan than a dinner party._

"A very rousing speech your grace. It must be nice to see so many nobles gather to honor your brother." Aedan leaned in to address the marquise.  
"That is very sweet of you Lord Commander but most of them have come to honor the death of Divine Justinia, may Maker rest her soul." She feigned a surprised gasp at the warden’s quizical look. "Oh, I thought you had heard. My dear, I understand how you must feel. I was petrified when I heard first."  
"You are serious. What happened?"  
"The news are very recent, but as I hear it was an awful event. As you know Her Divine Majesty gathered leaders of both mages and templars to the Temple of Sacred Ashes for peace talks... everyone present perished."  
Aedan’s heart sunk and his breath stopped for a moment, everything felt suddenly so cold. A name almost escaped his mouth on the tip of his tongue. Leliana.  
"Everyone?"  
"Save for the lucky few who have declared the Inquisition."  
"Who?" He asked impatiently.  
"The hands of the Divine herself. Seeker Pentaghast and the Nightingale, among others." She stated, no doubt noticing the distress in his voice and the relief at the news of Lelianas survival. As a calm breeze these words washed over him, taking away the pain but leaving questions.  
"An Inquisition. Why have they declared an Inquisition?"  
Marquise chuckled politely, "Not even I know that dear Warden. Some say they are making a grab for power in the wake of chaos, some say they are doing the Makers bidding. They themselves claim that they aim to close the breach and end the war between mages and templars."  
"The breach?"  
"Oh, how silly of me. As I said, everyone at the Temple perished tragically. It happened through some powerful magic; the sky itself tore open above the ruins of the temple and horrid demons poured out of it."  
He immediately thought back to the magical aberration in the forest and the demons that crawled out of it. What kind of magic could stretch so far and wide across the land?  
Aedan sat back into his chair. "Shit."  
"These are trying times. Which is why we must stick together, if we aim to survive this chaos."  
We? Who does she mean when she says that, I wonder.  
"I am glad to hear that Sister Leliana survived the tragedy. I know you were close."  
_Were close? Just how well informed is she?_  
"We had our moments." He replied. "What about you, Your Grace? You must have many admirers." Aedan changed the subject.  
"Oh, how crass monsieur Cousland." She flicked her hand coyly. "My lord husband Geraume is off fighting in the war."  
"Under what banner if I may ask?" He probed.  
"Grand Duke Gaspard of course. The rightful heir to the Imperial throne." She said louder than before, grabbing the attention of many nobles who looked up as she spoke.

After a brief moment of cordialities and chatter among the noblemen and women, Marquise Beatrix turned to Aedan once more. "I wanted to ask you Lord Commander; you and King Alistair fought against the Blight together, I always wanted to..."  
The ball room doors slammed open loudly as a lull came over the present nobles. A man in full armor marched in stomping and clanking his armor. The steward was jaunting behind him trying to calm him down. The man took off his helmet and threw it to the side.  
"Where is this wretch?" he shouted out in a thick Orlesian accent as he scanned the room. Worried whispers and murmurs spread through the table.  
"Where is she?" He shouted even louder this time as his voice silenced everyone else in the room. The sharp noise of the helmet spinning on the marble floor stopped and an uncomfortable silence spread through the ball room.  
The Marquise broke it, "My dear brother! Fashionably late as always. Come, sit and enjoy the..." A chair scraped against the floor. Aedan glanced over as Roberta stood up as a woman who had been called for guilt on a trial, solemn but confident.  
The knight looked her up and down and scoffed, "Dress up a filthy animal all you like, it will still be a filthy animal." Some quiet gasps and some quiet chuckles washed through the room.  
"Bertran! That is quite enough!" Lady Beatrix raised her tone as her face sprung with embarrassment behind the mask.  
"This does not involve you, sister." He spoke back, still staring at Roberta.  
Aedan saw as anger flushed the Marquises face. She was barely controlling herself, biting her lip to not say something she would regret.  
The knight hastily undid his gauntlet and threw it towards Roberta. "You will pay for my brother’s death! You will pay for what you did with blood!" He shouted out pointing at Roberta, grief and rage in his voice.  
"Bertran, it was an accident." Beatrix interrupted.  
"Accident?" He blurted out, outraged. "Incompetence! You swore to follow him, you swore to protect him with your life, you swore to die before he would! Yet here you stand, alive and my brother lay in the dirt, lifeless." His voice trembled. Roberta just stood there, looking at the knight, hard and unbowing, holding back the tears welling up in her eyes. The idle chatter among the nobles died out once again as an unnatural silence swelled in the room as they awaited for someone to speak.  
"It was my fault your brother died. Your quarrel is with me." Aedan stood up.  
Everyone in the room looked at him in an instant with surprised gasps as if this was some theater play.  
Roberta immediately intervened. "No! Don't you dare Warden." She turned back to Bertran. "You are right cousin..."  
"Don't you dare call me that."  
"You are right." She continued, "I swore an oath, and I broke it. I will pay for it." Her head hung low as she tried to hide her face and she wiped her tears.  
"You will." The knight replied, with a low threatening tone. "Midnight. Chateau gardens." He turned around and stormed out of the room, the clanging of his armor echoing through the silence. Roberta hastily lumbered out of the ballroom into the hallway. The nobles started chatting amongst each other in barely contained whispers, while Marquise sat in her seat with as much poise as she could muster and took a sip of her wine, forcing a polite smile on her face.  
"Excuse me." Aedan got up and looked at his squire, "Come on kid." He followed commanders lead. Marquise did not react, attempting to appear unshaken. She just sat there as if she was the only one in the room.

"Ser, what are we doing?" Devin asked worryingly.  
"Helping Lady Roberta."  
"How?"  
_A better question is why._  
"I don't know yet."  
She slammed the door to her room as the two men approached it.  
"Roberta?" No answer, only feint sounds of activity in the room.  
"It will be easier if you let me in. I tend to be quite loud when ignored." A moment later the doors parted, she was not wearing the dress any longer. Instead leather pants and a tunic hung loosely as she was still adjusting some parts of her armor.  
"What do you want warden?"  
"What do you plan to do?" She went back into the room and continued strapping into her armor.  
“What does it look like.”  
"Is this really the smart thing to do?" He asked.  
She shot a bewildered look at the warden. "You think I care about that? I let them down. I failed them!” She roared in frustration.  
_Honor is more important to her than her own life. If she could keep her honor and lose her life, she would do it in a heartbeat. Why am I helping her? The bloody woman does not want to help herself._  
And yet he looked to his squire and said. "Devin! What are you waiting for? The lady needs help with her armor."

Midnight was drawing near and a full moon illuminated the clear skies above. Roberta sat on stone bench in the middle of the vast gardens, in a circular clearing surrounded by a hedge. A bustle of horse hooves gathered in the distance. Aedan approached the woman and got on a knee, "Last chance. I can take this off your hands. It is as much my fault as yours."  
"You know I can't do that warden." She answered unflinchingly. He knew she couldn't.  
The main gates creeked open in the distance and half a dozen knights trotted towards them. Bertran was in front, wearing a different set of armor than previous and a greatsword on his back. He dismounted as the nobles began gathering from the main foyer like a pack of hyenas, no doubt to be the audience for the duel.  
_How exciting this must be for them._  
He did not see Stanislav among the crowd.  
"I was half-expecting you to run away, like you did to my brother." Bertran snapped at her. Roberta quietly got up, calm and focused, poising herself for what's to come, sword in hand.  
"Is this the famed chevalier nobility?" Aedan asked.  
He just grimaced back at the warden, not saying a word.  
The steward stepped up in between the two knights. "Madame Roberta. Monsieur Bertran. You have both agreed to an honorable duel..."  
"To death." Bertran interrupted.  
"As you say my lord. You are both allowed one set of arms and armor, no side weapons or daggers. Pick your weapons and may the Maker watch over you."

Bertran drew his greatsword, giving it a few swings as he lowered the visor on his golden feathered helmet. Roberta went to pick up her large metal shield, adorned with the Roche flower, and strapped it to her non dominant hand, holding the longsword in the other.  
_Large shield might slow her down, but if she fends off and absorbs most of his swings, he will tire out before her. The man is bigger than her, and that's saying something. She has to stay focused and on the defensive, let the big guys rage wear himself down._  
Roberta got in her stance. Shield hard in front, sword hand raised to her eye level, blade pointing outwards.  
"Death before dishonor."  
"Death before dishonor!" Bertran returned the phrase as an insult.

He immediately swung his greatsword, advancing at his opponent. Roberta retreated a step, circling to the side as he went for another swing, she evaded it once again.  
_She needs to block the hits. A strong warrior can keep swinging his blade through the air for days, but if he keeps slamming it into a metal plate that will wear him down much faster._  
They danced back and forth for a while. Roberta kept with her defensive tactic, stepping back and circling, occasionally making careful swings at her opponent. She was fighting very reserved even as she took several hits to her shield, staggering back, grunting as the impact washed over her. Maybe she hoped that Bertran would wear out, maybe she hoped to punish herself for her failure, to die with honor. Something wouldn't let her though. She kept fighting, kept defending against every blow coming towards her.

The Marquise quietly joined the crowd, still barely any emotion on her face. Hands pursed in front of her as she silently watched the duel.

"You coward! Aaah!" Bertran shouted swinging his sword, as Roberta evaded the strike.  
"Is this what Constance saw with his dying eyes?" He swung again. Roberta repressed the anger swelling up in her as she took another step back.  
The man panted heavily as he went for another swing, "This is what he saw huh? Aaahhhh!" He slammed into her shield as she quickly raised it above her head.  
"A coward! Backing off, running away!" He kicked her in the now defenseless chest. Roberta stumbled back. Either the impact or the words swelled some anger in her and she cried out as she went for a reckless swing that clanged off the man’s greatsword.  
"You are no chevalier! And you never will be!" He pushed the blade away swinging at her neck level, going for the kill. She deftly blocked it with the shield and thrust the blade into Bertrans chest. It sank right in between the plates at least four inches deep. Looked like it got him in the guts. He grunted in pain, stepping back as the sword slid out and turned red with blood. Trickles of it dripped on the floor while Bertran stumbled for a second. Roberta stood wide eyed, taken aback by this development.  
"You fucking whore!" Bertran spun with his greatsword going for a wild arcing strike. It clanged off Robertas shield so loud, some of the nobles grabbed for their ears and gasped. The shield dented from the impact, but he didn't let down. He just kept slamming the blade at her. The shield was getting more dented with every strike. Roberta cried out in pain falling to one knee, shield still raised up but battered and dented. He broke her shield arm. She quickly got to her feet and stumbled back desperately avoiding another swing that crashed into the cobbled floor.  
Roberta rushed to loosen the shield straps and drop it.  
"I never understood why father took you in. A filthy mongrel! You are nothing like us." He spat out bitterly, touching his wound that was still dripping with fresh blood through the armor cracks and into his boot. Roberta let loose of her shield with another cry of pain, stiffly dropping her wounded arm to the side like a broken branch. She stepped forward to swing at her cousin again. He parried the attack with one hand and grabbed her by the broken arm with the other. She cried out in pain as he twisted her shattered limb and slammed his helmet into her nose. As she stumbled back, blood poured out of her nose.

The crowd gasped.  
Bertran took up his blade in both arms and swung with all his might going for another head swipe. Roberta was still quick on her feet, she regained her focus and rolled under the flying blade, slashing at her opponents ankle. Blood splashed as his tendons ripped and he lost his balance in that leg for a second, regaining his footing and stumbling back.  
"Everything was your fault you wench! You should have died in that fire along the rest of the filth!" The venom dripped from his mouth like the blood from his wound. Roberta cried out with rage and desperation, now recklessly running at the chevalier, sword raised. She slashed, but the man parried. She slashed again, he parried. She slashed a third time, it connected.  
The crowd gasped again.  
_Come on, finish it!_  
Her blade sunk in through his shoulder blade near his heart. She pulled it out, blood spattering as she did. Bertran lifted his blade in one arm and weakly swung at her, last breath effort. The greatsword clattered on the now red cobbled stones.  
Roberta panted heavily, eyes wide with adrenaline darting around but focused on her opponent.  
"You filthy mongrel." Bertran blurted out. He went for his sword, raised it above his head and swung at Roberta. Her blade ran clean through his heart up to the hilt and his sword dropped to the ground for the last time.  
"Death before dishonor..." He blurted out, blood gargling in his throat as he stared into Roberta’s wide, shocked eyes.  
The crowd gasped, followed by a deafening silence.


	6. A Memory on the Waking Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years ago Warden and Nightingale spent some time together in their own little cottage on the Waking Sea.

She opened her eyes and wiped the hair from her face. Her hand instinctively reached behind her to find him on the bed but it was met by crumpled bedsheets. She shifted up lazily, one eye still closed as she adjusted to the morning light.   
The room was empty and the curtains were waving by the open window.   
She walked up to the tall mirror, pouting at her bedraggled hair as she turned side to side observing her bare body.  
_You’re getting older._  
Every imperfection, every change somehow made it to the forefront of her attention.  
She combed her hair neatly and threw on his shirt that hung loosely off her shoulders.

As she walked barefoot through the cottage she began hearing a faint sound. Someone was sharpening a blade.

She stepped into the sun, feet brushing up against the grass, and saw Aedan sitting on a chair overlooking the valley and the small town on the shore. He wasn’t looking at the beautiful sunrise however, or the sea, his head was focused on the sword in his hand as he dragged the whetstone along it with precision.  
_He has been having the nightmares again._  
“Should I run and grab my bow? It looks like you are preparing for another Blight.” She said cocking her head to see his face.  
Aedan turned to look up at her with a warm smile on his face. “I think I got it. You would just get in the way.” He kept looking at her with that sly smile, eliciting a reaction.  
She didn’t let up, only cracking a grin and an eye-roll in response as she crashed in his lap putting an arm around his shoulders, forcing him to put the sword to the side.  
“You are a big jerk.”   
“And you are a small jerk.” He nuzzled his face to hers, she giggled. “Good morning Nightingale.”  
_Nightingale. He enjoys teasing me with that way too much._  
“I’m just Leliana here, _Hero of Ferelden_.”  
He smiled briefly and looked ahead at the rising sun. Leliana studied his face for a while in silence. It was hard to read him sometimes. At times it seemed he was happy and content, and the next moments it appeared as if the weight of the world hung from his shoulders. They had been through a lot together as well as separately so she understood that part, but not the part of being a warden. He had told her a lot about it; the dreams, the duty, the Calling - a looming shadow that grew over them.  
_I have to hope for his sake._  
She wanted to spend some time with him before they were pulled back to their duties. Just the two of them.

“Alright I’ll say it.” He spoke up. “We have to return on the next morning.” He said it in a humorous tone, but the melancholy was obvious.  
“I don’t want to leave either.”  
“…But we have to.” He finished her sentence.  
Leliana smiled. “I wasn’t going to say that.”  
Well, we should make the most of our day Nightingale.” He arched his eyebrows at her with that puppy look he loved to make at her, and picked her up in both arms.  
Her belly fluttered and she giggled as he did. “I will come up with an animal to call you by the end of the day, I don’t think Hero of Ferelden works anymore.”  
“Don’t think you will have much time for thinking in a moment.” He nuzzled his face in her chest pecking kisses and tickling her nose with his hair.   
“I am a great multitasker.”   
He carried her into the house and she closed the door behind him.

Come afternoon, they were walking the cobbled streets of Ciela - the small town and the only one on the island. He was wearing a silly hat he bought on a whim when they arrived and seemed awfully proud of just how silly he looked in it. She wore a simple long dress and finely embroidered red shoes on high heels, with several little golden flowers pinned around the ankle strap. They looked too gaudy to be walking around a town such as this, but she loved the way they felt so she wore the long dress to cover them. She was the only one who knew of the shoes and that was enough for her.

The townspeople never bothered them overmuch, even if some did know who they were. They were simple, happy people who probably have never seen the rest of the world beyond the Waking Sea. Leliana loved telling them stories she had gathered from her travels: different cultures, different people, outlandish events. She smiled every time they had a wide-eyed look of wonder on their faces.   
She heard their tales as well. Even if common gossip she wanted to hear them to better understand them and their lives. As a Nightingale she spent her life learning the Game and high society. Left hand of the Divine had to know the People: the poor, the rich, the faithful, the sinners, the forgotten and the downtrodden. She had to know them in order to advise Divine Justinia.  
_Without perspective we become selfish tyrants._

Even with all the knowledge she struggled with foresight; to know what was the right decision or answer when she was asked. Sometimes she felt envious of how easy it seemed for Aedan. She knew he second guessed himself but he never wavered when it came down to it. Even when he made mistakes, he never gave up faith in himself and people around him. That was what she admired about him the first they met in Lothering, why she followed him.

They had lunch at their favorite inn – a cozy little place on the edge of town with a nice view over the shore.  
“… it really is unbelievable how he finds time to send letters for advice this far away from Denerim. Do you think he actually waits for the response before making a decision?” Aedan said.  
She smiled. “I hope not. Otherwise the entirety of Ferelden would sink into the sea without your sage advice.”  
“Sarcasm suits me better.”  
“Well, maybe he just misses you.” Leliana teased.  
He looked at her and arched his eyebrow. “Maybe he misses you.”  
She grinned. “Well there was this one time, back when we were searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes…”  
“What now?”  
Leliana giggled. “You are so jealous.”  
“Am not. Which one of us is the lucky one is still up for debate.”  
Leliana rolled her eyes. “You know Alistair did have a crush on me. I was trained to know these things, remember? But he had too much respect for both of us to act on it.”  
She had never told him that. Never seemed important, yet he had a lack of surprise on his face when she did.  
“You knew?” Leliana asked.  
“You girls aren’t the only ones who gossip.” He said with that smug smile on his face.  
“I think you have a great talent for embarrassing me.” She said, nudging him in the shoulder as he chuckled.  
They sat on the porch of the tavern where it was more private and less rowdy than the inside as more people started coming in.  
The couple spent the rest of the time reminiscing about the past. Even though the Blight had conjured many terrors and tragedies, they chose to remember the quieter days, the moments that kept them from despair. They rarely talked about the past like this, but Leliana wanted to remind him what he was fighting for, to keep him going and not lose faith as the cracks grew on him.

 _He needs other people to keep him going. He never tied himself to any belief short of in those close to him. As he builds them up, if they fall, they would fall on him. I brought him to meet Divine Justinia, and he saw who she was. Who I saw and followed._  
I haven’t told him I will return to her side after this.  
He will think I abandoned him, but the Divine needs me more than he does. Not just her, mages, templars, the faithful. If only he knew, if only he cared more.   
As much as I love him, I can be of no help with what he is going through.

They walked down to the beach as the sky turned pink in the sunset. A family with two kids walked by them on their way back to the town. The boy and girl giggled as they ran ahead of their parents, racing each other. She smiled but it made her wistful. Leliana looked at Aedan but he didn’t make eye contact, knowingly or not.   
Her mind wandered to Morrigan. As much as she respected her and was thankful to her, there was bitterness and envy every time she thought of the witch that she could never quite shake off despite her confidence. He never spoke of her and she never brought her up either.  
_Envy. You are better than that. You know better._

They found a lonely washed up log on the beach where they sat, tide rolling in and barely avoiding their feet. 

“This feels like an end.” Aedan broke the silence. He sounded somber and remorseful. She looked at him with a worried look on her face she couldn’t quite hide.  
“Don’t think like that. Once you find the cure, we will return here one day.” She looked at the sun sinking into the sea. “The sun will rise again tomorrow and again when we sit here together, years from now. Two little rascals running about, splashing in the water. Me telling them it’s getting late and you letting them stay just for a bit longer, because you always have to be the good guy.” She smiled a genuine smile, resting her head on his shoulder. Leliana closed her eyes.  
“I can hear them already. Giggling, splashing around. ‘Daddy, tell us how you defeated an ogre again!’ And you get up and roar like the big dummy you are and start chasing them around.” She giggled and opened her eyes as he rested his head on hers.  
“I always loved your tales.”  
Tide rolled in and touched her toes. They watched the sunset in content silence. The water was soon covering their feet and hitting up against the log.

“I think it’s a weasel.” Leliana said.  
“A weasel?”  
“Yes. You are a weasel.” She announced proudly.  
He snorted. “I don’t know how you will recover from this one.”  
“It only seems like an insult if you don’t know much about them. I kept one as a kid. She was a fierce thing, used to bite at first but I treated her well and she came to like me. I used to feed her candied grapes until I was told that it’s not good for them. She was always skulking around, eyes peeled and ears perked, jumping from shelf to shelf. Sometimes, she would run off for an entire day and come back with a small bird she had hunted down and placed it in front of me proudly. I felt sad and even angry for a while at that, but I understood that it was just her nature later.”  
“At the risk of sounding a bit thick, I don’t see the similarities.”  
“Yes you do. You like to pretend that you don’t but you always see things most miss. Especially in people.”  
She thought of the chantry sister back in Lothering, her fears, insecurities, her dreams. She thought of the warden she had met who found her, who found strength in her she hadn’t known was there. She thought of how they both grew into the people they were now, lifting each other off their backs, and she thought of her duty now.  
“You will find what you are looking for and I will be there when you return.” Leliana said.

“What happened to the weasel?” He asked after a moment.  
“She lived a happy life.”  
They sat on the beach as the water washed their feet and the sun sunk into the sea.

 


	7. A Brand New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the present, Aedan sets out to look for Damon - the traitor warden, and the knowledge he possesses.

A knock on his door woke him up. Aedan shuddered as he regained his conscience, sheets and his body covered in cold sweat.  
Another brash knock on his door.  
He grabbed a towel from the bedframe to wipe his face speaking through it. "Coming!” He groggily stumbled towards the door still regaining his faculties at the sudden awakening.  
Another knock. "Do that one more time and I will conscript you." He opened it and his eyes lazily looked up to meet the gaze of a woman he quite distinctly recognized.  
"Good morning Lady Roberta." He greeted her with mild surprise in his voice.  
"Commander Cousland. I would like to accompany you on your quest to hunt down the..." She looked down and turned her head to the side. "Please get dressed."  
"Where are my manners. My apologies, I wasn't expecting for a lady to visit me during waking hours." He swung the door back only to leave a small gap to be able to talk to her.  
"Carry on with what you were saying. Accompany me to hunt down the..." He prodded her while putting on his clothes.  
"As I was saying, I would like to accompany you on your quest to hunt down the rogue Warden Damon."  
"And why would you want to do that?"  
"That was my assignment before I... before Constance died. I gave an oath." She sounded resolute.  
"And you are not welcome at your house anymore." What could have come across as an insult sounded more like concern.  
"That is not why I am doing this. All that happened, it has to mean something." She said defensively.  
The door swung back open, Aedan was wearing his travelling gear and the blue-white striped vest that the Marquise had him wear, now strapped and reinforced with armor.  
He looked at Roberta. "I know."  
_She won’t budge or take no for an answer and I could use the help._  
He began walking downstairs to the empty morning tavern. "You are welcome to tag along."  
Her armored boots were clinking behind him. "Just like that?"  
"No, not just like that. You will have to fight and face whatever dangers there might be along the way."  
"I am ready for that." Conviction was in her voice same as before, unshaking.  
"Or we will go through long investigations and travels to uncover nothing at all. Who knows, right?"  
"I am aware of how bounty-hunting works, Commander."  
"You _did_ successfully deliver me to the Wardens."  
"You came here willingly." She deflected.  
"You just won't take a compliment will you? Either way my lady, we should be on our way if we are to catch the traitor." Aedan ended the conversation as they reached the door where the young squire was already packing the gear onto horse saddles, no doubt up on his feet early on trying to impress Roberta or Aedan.

_‘I suggest you leave the city as soon as you can.’  
Wasn’t planning on staying either. The old coot was probably giving me a good warning. Knowing him, it was unlikely to turn out a false alarm._

Moving was comfortable, it felt safe. Since the Blight Aedan never stayed in one place for too long, never had the chance, never wanted to either. He was being pulled in one direction or another by anyone who needed his attention and help, like he could solve all of their problems simply because he managed to kill a dragon one time. It was more complicated than that, but it never ceased to overwhelm him even so.

His best bet was to head further west. After they left Chateau Roche, Aedan and Devin dug through the Warden records with the castellans reluctant permission. The library had been partially burned and indistinguishable, but they left something behind – nothing. More precisely, some shelves were cleared of books not burned: records and notes of the Taint and Wardens who researched it. In his mind there could be only one reason for Damon to steal this knowledge, the same one that lead Aedan to Orlais.  
At first he sought the rumors of a warden who had supposedly been cured of the taint, but now the best bet was chasing down this Damon. Whatever he did has earned Clarel’s ire and may be dangerous enough that Aedan would want to find out about it.

_If the traitor did steal from the Wardens before escaping he would try to get as far away from them as possible, and west is the only place without any warden activity, only abandoned fortresses. The lost glory of the Grey Wardens.  
Yet I can’t be sure. Best ask Stanislav for a favor._

He snooped out the old man’s residence – a small cottage that he rented from a local trader. Likely one of his contacts.  
It looked like the old man wasted no time in setting up his workshop in the house. Carefully set out fabrics were hung on walls almost entirely the inside of the main hall. He heard a mechanical cranking noise, like an old rusty cart wheel was being spun against its will. Even as the sun shone bright outside, the indoors were dimly lit. Curtains were shut and only at the back end of the room a bright streak of sunlight shot across the floor revealing the dusty air. Warden walked towards it, admiring the rich selection of textiles each one more intricate and colorful than the other.  
Aedan came upon the source of the noise. A large metal contraption the size of a weaving loom was being operated by the old man who was wearing comically tiny glasses and hunched over, dragging a piece of fabric with one hand and spinning a large wheel with the other as the contraption stitched the fabric with a surprisingly pleasant clicking noise.

“Interesting device.” Aedan remarked.  
“Aedan, my boy.” Stanislav responded unsurprised, not taking his attention away from his work. “This thing? A gift from Orzammar. The Merchants Guild got some fuckin’ crafty dwarves on the payroll.”  
“I take it, it sews?”  
“Good eye there lad. I see why they promoted you to Commander.” Stanislav lifted up the twin-needle mechanism and pulled out the stitched fabric. Dropping it on a stack of similar sheets. “But I don’t suppose you came here to admire my handiwork.” He stood up, straightening out his back with a bone crack, as he groaned in displeasure.  
“No. I need a favor.”  
“Aye. You also need this raggedy Orlesian doublet fixed. That won’t do you any favors in battle lad.” He turned him around forcibly and lifted his arms up, putting up a measuring tape lengthwise to his arms and back. Aedan rolled his eyes but complied.  
“How’s your Nightingale doing my boy?” The old man asked.  
“She was at the Temple for peace talks.”  
“Aye. Judging by the tone of your voice, she survived.”  
“I would have thought you of all people would know what happened.” Aedan smirked.  
“I’m not fuckin’ omniscient Aedan. Besides I was dealing with a bloody siege not a while back.” He sounded like he took a personal slight to this attack on his professionalism. “I take it the Marquise De Roche got you that information?”  
“What makes you say that?” Aedan asked.  
“She’s got a reputation. Shrewd bugger that one.”  
Aedan looked to the floor for a second as Stanislav pulled a needle through the fabric by his shoulder pulling the vest tighter into itself.  
“For a moment there I thought she was gone.”  
“Judging by the redhead’s work ethic, it will take a lot more than a bloody hole in the sky to do her in.”  
Aedan chuckled. “She is quite tenacious.”  
Stanislav slung a leather harness and shoulder-pads over his back. “Turn around.”  
He started strapping in the buckles at the front.  
“So what’s this favor?”  
“I need some information on a certain warden. Goes by Damon. He recently betrayed his order and stole documents from their archives here.”  
“Warden Damon.” The old man sucked on his teeth while stitching up the fabric on Aedan’s tunic. “He is Ferelden. If memory serves me right he was conscripted here in Orlais a week before he was to be hanged. Not much else to be said of him. He rose through their ranks steadily. As to why he decided to betray Commander Clarel? Fucked if I know.”  
“What about where he would have headed?” Aedan asked.  
“Looking for the documents then.”  
“I am. I also plan to bring Damon back in to face justice. There are several abandoned Warden outposts to the west, that would be my first guess where an exile would head out.”  
Stanislave contemplated. “One of my contacts at Verchiel was employed by someone they described to be gruff and cautious, paranoid perhaps. I didn’t think much of it, plenty of loony buggers going back and forth through those channels. But, it was just after this Damon character allegedly escaped the Palestone Sword.”  
“What were they contacted about?”  
“Transport. Sealed crates to be sent westward. Your instinct was right.”  
“I don’t suppose you know what they were transporting.” Aedan asked, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer.  
“Not a fuckin’ clue.” Stanislav pulled the last strap on Aedan’s harness making him wince. “There you are then. Fashionable and defensible.”  
“Hmph. Thanks for that; and the information.”  
“You owe me a favor jackass. Better believe I will be collecting.”  
“Of course.” Aedan said and turned to leave. He paused, considering for a while.  
“I-can you do me a courtesy? Can you get in contact with Leliana? Tell her-tell her that I am heading west and it may be a while before I return. Tell her that I…” _Love her._ “I will do my best.”  
The old tailors face was unfazed as he listened. “Very… nondescript, but I will make sure I mention that when I contact this Inquisition of hers.”  
“If you get the time. See you around old man.” Aedan left the cottage with a heavy heart and made his way back to his companions.  


Three horses left the city gates early afternoon. Nobody protested and no goodbyes were said. Several letters reached Aedan from nobles trying to ingratiate themselves to him; promises of power, offers of deals and of course the flattery to make the most imperious of kings blush.

The only one he did not hear from was Marquise de Roche. He did not hear anything from her since the duel.

 _What a mess. Roberta took the brunt of all of that, the embarrassment and shame. No matter how much she acted to not care for the Game and the whims of the nobles, she could not ignore all of it revolving around her. She was not welcome here anymore, it felt like she was walking on thin ice even before. Family rarely stays happy and stable, especially in these trying times._  
Family. That word had lost its meaning to Aedan. Now it was different. Grey Wardens had become his family, yet he wanted something more: a warm hearth in a cozy house, children and his beloved by his side. That future was forsaken the moment Duncan stepped into his father’s castle, but a new one was granted. A future where he got to live and a future where he met people he could call just that – _family_. __  
At first Aedan hated Duncan for using the tragedy to his advantage, vowing to save Aedan in exchange for conscription. A gamble. He didn’t know it then but now it all seemed much more clear, looking back at it. Now, he would have done the same.

They didn’t talk much during their ride west. _  
_ Roberta was more dour and stoic than the day they met and with good reason, Devin was his shy self and Aedan for once didn’t have any snarky remarks to spit out. He was focused on the task ahead, reminded of his mortality by recent events. Finding the Warden was his only chance, the calling was on his heels.

_He was in the dark stone tunnel again. The torches blue flame illuminating the oily, slick rock all around him.  
He heard it again, or was it the first time? A song. Discordant, cacophony of voices and hums. It was quiet, but intrusive, always at the back of his mind, lurking. Amidst all the alien voices he thought he could hear the voices of his parents, people he knew, loved. It only made it more sickening but he couldn’t get it out of his head. He could only move forward. _

_The ceiling and walls were running with black oil. Some was dripping on his head and shoulders, touching the blue flame of the torch it sizzled an angry hiss and disappeared._

_He started hearing clatter and footsteps behind him now. Dozens or more, unrecognizable and chaotic but no other noise. Just footsteps. They were getting close now, his heart began to race. He quickly turned around, waving the torch in front to reveal the assailants but there was nothing there: no footsteps and no source of them._

_He turned back and began to walk forward again. The footsteps came back, skulking behind dreadfully. Aedan began to move faster. So did the footsteps. The song was growing louder in his head. He waved the torch behind him to maybe hit whoever was chasing him but it connected to nothing and the momentum of the swing spun him around, nearly knocking him off balance. He was sprinting now. No matter how fast he ran the chaotic pursuers did not relent or fall behind. The song was screaming in his head now. He shouted back, but he lost his voice mid-shout, gasping for air it all disappeared._

He opened his eyes and knocked away the hand that was resting on his mouth.  
“You were shouting.” Roberta explained herself with slight concern. “Again.”  
He didn’t know what to say. Showing vulnerability to a stranger, even someone like Roberta wasn’t like him.  
“What time is it?”  
“Two or three hours from daylight ser.” Devin spoke up from his bedroll, woken up by the ruckus.  
“Get some rest. I will stay on watch until then.” Aedan said, getting up shaking off the sleep and realizing he was in cold sweat again under his clothes. He sighed annoyed.  
“If I may ser, you’ve been having these nightmares every night since we left…”  
“We are not talking about it Devin.” He interrupted his squire strictly. The kid was taken aback by this slightly.  
“He has a point Warden. It’s getting worse, whatever _it_ is.” Roberta chimed in.  
“Get some rest. We will ride out at sunrise.” Aedan finished the conversation sitting down by the dim embers of the campfire.

They didn’t press the issue any more and went to sleep.

 _I was too harsh with the kid. He hasn’t seen his parents and friends for over a month and the only one he knows here is a wise-ass Warden who treats him like shit._  
Aedan grabbed his journal, flipping to the last page he found what he was looking for – a small portrait drawing of the Bard. A young talented dwarf drew it in Orzammar, during one of the very few downtimes they had while wrestling the Blight. __  
It was slightly faded by now, folded over many times but he could see her clearly, remember the young optimistic Orlesian girl that joined the Warden on his quest to save the world.

Many years passed. She had changed but he stayed the same.

The sun shone through the verdant canopy, birds were chirping and the campfire had become a black pile of coals smoking lightly.  
The Warden scouted a crow perched on a tree branch, jerking its head scouting for a morning meal.  
“We should head out.”  
The crow flew off.  
“Yeah. Wake the kid, I don’t think we are close yet.” Aedan replied.  
“You keep saying that. We have just been heading west this whole time, they could be anywhere in the west. _If_ they went west. How can you be so sure we are on the right path?”  
“I am not.” He said, realizing how dumb he must seem.  
“So you are just guessing?”  
“Pretty much.” He turned to look at her and gave her a reassuring smile. “Look, I will sense them once we get near enough. If not, well… this was our best shot. Nobody seems to know where they were headed.”  
“Warden, I can’t let this traitor warden escape. I promised.”  
_And I will die if I don’t find him._  
“You have a better chance of finding him with a Warden by your side. We can sense each other same as Darkspawn.”  
“Which means the traitor will sense you as well.”  
Aedan smiled coyly. “There is also that. I might have an edge however, what with being a hero and all.” _Avernus’ magic more like._  
His blood was different now, even from a wardens. Blood magic.  
He would be lying if he said it didn’t benefit him, didn’t help him save others and himself when in need. It gave him strength, durability, speed at the cost of those who gave their lives for Avernus’ research. Even if what he did was wrong Aedan couldn’t kill the old man, not when the Blight and a civil war were ravaging the country. Later, his research was what drove Aedan to pursue the cure. Avernus himself did not believe there was a way to cure taint, but Leliana did and that was enough for Aedan.

They were on the tiresome road again. Aedan was desperate to sense something, another warden even darkspawn, something that would tell him he was on the right path. The trio stopped at every village on the road, asking around about wardens, but it seemed that nobody has seen them here in years. ‘They don’t travel into the Western Approach much these days.’ The villagers spoke. However, several groups of men had been traveling through with carts filled with unknown goods, not saying much and not stopping to trade. Every person they asked had their own theory about who they were: bandits, grave robbers, deserters, rogue wardens. That last one was what he was hoping for.

The surroundings changed as they moved further west; lush grasslands changed into dry rolling hills, verdant forests into sharp-grass valleys. The trio followed a road up by a river valley. Barely any soldiers of either side could be seen now, only sparse men and women wearing no distinguishable armor skulking by the road side or dallying in taverns – deserters. No one paid them any mind or made any protests, people this far away from the conflict simply didn’t care. Roberta did, he could see it in her eyes – the disdain and judgement. She was in the military, but was loyal to her family first, before any Empress or Usurper. Still, the cowardice of these deserters made her resent, them or herself, Warden wasn’t sure.  
Roberta hadn’t mentioned what happened in Montsimmard since the night of the duel, the wound was still sore. Talking about it wouldn’t change anything, she was like Aedan in that regard, she sought action and results over words of comfort.

Another day, another solemn village and the paved road ahead of them. Nothing seemed to change. He had a nightmare last night, same as the night before. He was running out of time.

_It feels like my time is running out, yet it feels different than how the older Wardens described it. The song, something about it felt un-natural; not darkspawn un-natural, different than that. Like a child attempting to play a song on the lute to mimic his father. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe I am just following the call into the Deep Roads right now unbeknownst to myself. Wouldn’t that be ironic?_

His head stung in pain suddenly. He closed his eyes almost instinctively.

_Dread. It’s dark. The dark, mossy stones all around, like a prison. I hear the clattering down the hallway.  
Oh maker, it’s only a matter of time before they find me. Betrayed. Left alone. If only I could see him again. My love._

Aedan shook his head, blinking frantically.  
_That wasn’t a darkspawn._


End file.
